Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor
by Somogyi
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?
1. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 00/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
REPOST Notes:  
  
Here it is, over a year-and-a-half since I originally posted "Not the Doctor,"   
and finally, its long-awaited sequel, "Deep Water," is done. For those of you   
who missed NTD the first time around--or for those of you who read it but are a   
bit fuzzy after all these months--I decided it would be best to repot it before   
releasing DW. DW is pretty much self-contained, but I think it will make more   
sense reading it in the context of NTD--notably how the first story affects the   
M/S relationship. Just to add to the confusion, I've finally decided on a name   
for this series: "Blessed Union of Souls." Therefore NTD has been renamed BUOS   
I: NTD; I am currently looking into changing the title officially in the places   
it has been archived. Be on the lookout for BUOS II: DW sometime next week. And,   
hopefully, more parts in the series will follow this summer. Enjoy!  
  
-Somogyi 5/1/00  
  
*****  
  
This is my first attempt at an X-Files story, though not my first time writing   
fanfic (any X-Men fans out there?). This all began over a year ago, during   
Season 4, when I had a vague plot idea for a multi-part storyline. I started   
writing last summer, but got a nasty case of writer's block. Then my senior year   
of college rolled around, and this project was placed on the back burner.   
Needless to say, I was once again inspired, and finally finished this monster.   
Truly a labor of love.  
  
First and foremost, I'd like to thank Mirage, co-plotter, beta-reader, editor,   
soundingboard, and friend extraordinaire. This story would never have been   
written without her input. Thank you, Mirage! I'd also like to thank my college   
roomiest, Marianna and Tam, not only for getting me hooked on the show, but also   
for coming up with the title. "Not the Doctor" is an Alanis Morissette song, and   
the lyrics seemed perfect for what Scully will go through in the later parts.   
Don't want to ruin the story for you-- look for the lyrics beginning with   
Chapter Five.  
  
"Not the Doctor" can actually be considered the set-up for a much more extensive   
storyline. If you'd like to read what happens next, please let me know. All   
comments and criticisms are welcomed at somogyi02@yahoo.com. Please tell me what   
you think. Thanks for reading!  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 01/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
Ripping the strip of duct tape with her teeth, Dana Scully firmly pressed it   
down, securing the cuff of her glove to her sleeve. She repeated the motion with   
her other glove. After checking both arms for any holes, she pulled the   
headpiece of her biohazard suit over her head and fastened the zipper. With a   
sigh, she turned to the other woman suited up beside her. "Are you ready, Dr.   
Sudhir?" she asked her.  
  
"Whenever you are, Agent Scully," she replied.  
  
"All right. Let's do it."  
  
Scully had to give Amita Sudhir credit. She had been with the CDC for a number   
of years, and was one of the most competent infectious disease specialists in   
the country. Dealing with these kinds of situations was a regular occurrence for   
her. Scully, however, could count the number of times she had worn a biohazard   
suit on the fingers of one hand. To say it was a stressful situation for the   
unaccustomed was like saying that a tornado was just a strong wind. Even the   
best and the brightest scientists in the laboratory do not necessarily function   
effectively under level four conditions. The suits alone were cumbersome; the   
knowledge that one clumsy move with any of countless sharp surgical instruments   
could compromise the suit and thus expose the wearer to a potentially fatal   
biological hazard was enough to paralyze even the most stalwart of people.  
  
As they headed toward the air lock, Scully looked over at Dr. Sudhir, and saw   
the young Indian woman watching her, trying to gauge her mental state. Scully   
walked carefully, aware of the objects around her, trying to maintain the   
confidence that she usually possessed in the field or the autopsy bay. During   
their briefing, they discussed the situation--that they would be performing an   
autopsy on a woman who was believed to have died from a fast-acting and   
extremely virulent strain of anthrax. That any exposure to them would in all   
likelihood result in their own deaths.  
  
One had to have a healthy respect for these sort of agents, Scully knew, to   
realize that an organism that cannot be seen with the naked eye had the   
potential to take over people's bodies and destroy them before they could even   
launch a sufficient defense. It was all right to fear the power of these agents,   
but you could not let that terror overwhelm you. If you did, then you were   
liable to be careless, and that kind of mistake could lead not only to your own   
death, but also that of those around you should you panic.  
  
They entered the main room, where the body was located, and fastened the tubes   
to their suits that would provide them with fresh oxygen. Scully was assaulted   
with a memory of another room, another body lying before her, a different person   
by her side. The last time she wore one of these suits, Agent Pendrell and she   
had been examining a scientist who had been assaulted by a black cancer that had   
managed to penetrate his suit. Pendrell was petrified of entering the room,   
wearing only the same suit that had apparently not protected the victim. Scully   
coolly reminded him that the suits would provide sufficient protection, that   
they would be fine. In truth, she, too, had been nervous about entering the   
room, but she had also known that allowing such anxiety to consume her would   
have been a potentially fatal blunder. She supposed she must have managed to   
exude sufficient confidence, because Pendrell--sporting a stiff upper lip--  
secured his suit and followed her faithfully into the lion's den, performing his   
duties with his usual zeal. Of course, the fact that he had a bit of a crush on   
her might also have influenced his actions.  
  
Thoughts of Pendrell brought a lump to the back of her throat. He was a capable   
agent, always willing to help her and Mulder's investigations however he could.   
Like the body lying on the autopsy table before her, Pendrell was also a victim,   
accidentally caught in the crossfire during one of their cases to uncover a   
government and military conspiracy. Another innocent, like her sister, whose   
life was tragically cut short for a cause in which he was not directly involved,   
to which he had not willingly committed himself.  
  
Scully suddenly had the sensation of being suffocated. She was not usually   
claustrophobic, but it had become difficult to draw a breath. She closed her   
eyes and cleared her mind, willing herself to relax. She took a few deep   
breaths, and the sensation passed.  
  
"Agent Scully?" Dr. Sudhir asked, approaching her. "Are you all right? Is it   
your air supply?"  
  
Opening her eyes, Scully looked over at her. "I'm fine," she said before   
proceeding over to the body. She had a job to do, and knew she had to focus all   
of her attention on the task at hand.  
  
She turned on the tape recorder, and adjusted the microphone so that it was near   
her headpiece. "The victim, Elizabeth Blair, is a thirty-five year old Caucasian   
woman, one hundred seventy-six centimeters in height. . . ."  
  
For the next several minutes, they proceeded with a superficial examination.  
  
"Take a look at these," Dr. Sudhir said, pointing to one of many papules that   
covered the victim's body. "See how it has several satellite lesions?"  
  
"Most of the other lesions have those surrounding ones as well," Scully said,   
examining one on the upper arm. "This one appears to have enlarged, ulcerated,   
and to have excreted a dense, black eschar that has adhered to the area and   
crusted over."  
  
"And notice how the underlying skin has become elevated?"  
  
"Yes, subcutaneous edema."  
  
"This definitely looks like anthrax," Dr. Sudhir said. "Unless treated at   
inception, these lesions can persist for two weeks or longer. I find it amazing   
that she wasn't treated for these symptoms."  
  
"Blair had reported to work yesterday morning, appearing asymptomatic, according   
to her coworkers. Several hours later, she complained of shortness of breath.   
She was found by a lab tech after having collapsed in the bathroom. By that   
time, she was suffering from a high fever, and already covered with the   
pustules. She went into convulsions and died before the EMTs arrived."  
  
"Any ideas as to how she was infected?"  
  
"Her employer, Andraven Laboratories, stated that she was working with _E. coli_   
cultures obtained from cattle rumens. But she also dealt with blood and tissue   
samples. They think perhaps one of those samples was contaminated. We've   
gathered samples from the lab, and are testing them for anthrax, but thus far   
they've come up negative."  
  
Looking at the body, Dr. Sudhir shook her head. "Even acute anthrax typically   
takes one to two days before death occurs. This is highly unusual. No strains of   
_Bacillus anthracis_ I've ever dealt with have such a rapid course of action."  
  
*Welcome to the world of the X-Files, Dr. Sudhir. `Highly unusual' doesn't even   
begin to scratch the surface.* "Shall we proceed with the autopsy?"  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Scully was exhausted after the autopsy. It took much longer than she expected.   
Usually, these procedures did not bother her, but the added pressure to be   
extremely careful not to make any sudden movements that would compromise the   
integrity of the suits took its toll on her. The tension had settled in her   
shoulders and back, the aching of which was nearly equaled by her throbbing   
temples.  
  
She tried not to rush through decontamination procedures, knowing that she must   
take as much care there as she did throughout the procedure. Scully bid Dr.   
Sudhir farewell in the locker room as the other woman headed for the showers.   
She was already dreaming about the soothing effects of the hot water massaging   
her taxed muscles, but there was something she had to do first. Opening her   
locker, she pulled her cell-phone from her bag and eased her weary body onto one   
of the wooden benches.  
  
"Mulder," came the voice from the other line.  
  
"Mulder, it's me."  
  
"Hi, Scully. How'd the autopsy go?"  
  
"All right. Just finished it, in fact."  
  
"Everything go okay?"  
  
"Yes, no major catastrophes. Dr. Sudhir and I both made it through in one   
piece."  
  
"Good. So, what's the verdict?"  
  
"Well, we've ruled the cause of death to be septicemia."  
  
"That's blood poisoning, right?"  
  
"Uh huh. Due to the presence of _Bacillus anthracis_. A particularly lethal   
form, it appears. We've sent various tissue samples to the lab to be stained,   
but from the preliminary slides we made, it appears that Blair's entire body was   
inundated with the bacteria. Her skin was covered with dozens of lesions."  
  
"Sounds lovely. So you think she could have been accidentally exposed to a   
contaminated tissue or culture sample, as Andraven's lab claims?"  
  
"It's possible, I suppose. But given the rapid onset of the disease, it had to   
be a sample she came into contact with yesterday morning. We've tracked them all   
down, and they're at our lab being tested. If one of them contained the   
bacteria, they would have found it by now. Plus, it's highly probable that more   
than one sample would have been contaminated, given the contagious nature of the   
bacteria."  
  
"A little too convenient, huh? So you subscribe to your pal Liles' theory?"  
  
"I think that it's likely that Andraven learned of Blair's involvement in the   
switching of samples, and that he ordered her infected with the engineered   
disease in order to silence her and possibly also to warn Tim that they're on to   
him."  
  
"What about the sample your buddy gave us? Was it what he said it was?"  
  
"I haven't had a chance to check back since early this morning, but preliminary   
findings indicated that yes, it was, in fact, anthrax."  
  
"Well, it looks like we've got enough evidence to build a solid case against   
Andraven."  
  
"Mulder, even with the sample we got from Tim, it may not be enough."  
  
"Liles said he was willing to testify."  
  
"But it will be Tim's word against Andraven's. And Andraven is a successful   
businessman with a lot of clout. He'll get a top-notch lawyer that will find a   
way to make Tim look like a disgruntled employee seeking revenge. We've got to   
find a way to link the anthrax directly back to Andraven's lab."  
  
"How do you propose we do that?"  
  
"We have to find a sample in one of the labs."  
  
Mulder snorted. "We'd have a better chance at getting the Smoking Man to give up   
his Morleys. If Andraven ordered Blair's death, as you suggest, then he's   
obviously on to us. . . ."  
  
"And so he's likely removed any evidence from his labs," Scully finished with a   
sigh.  
  
"It'll still be worth a shot to search them, though, wouldn't it?"  
  
"A shot in the dark. . . ."  
  
"Well, between Blair's death, the sample we've got, and Liles' testimony, I   
think we've got sufficient evidence for a warrant to search the laboratory and   
bring Andraven in," Mulder said. "I'm going to go speak to Skinner to   
requisition one."  
  
"Sounds good. That should leave me with enough time to shower and change, and   
then I can meet you at Andraven Labs."  
  
"You sound really tired, Scully. If you're too beat, I can do it by myself."  
  
"Thanks for the concern, Mulder, but I'm fine. A little soap and water, and I'll   
be as good as new. Besides, I want to be there when we charge Andraven."  
  
"All right, then. Say in an hour?"  
  
"Sounds good. Tim's in protective custody?"  
  
"Yeah. Luh and Winkler are with your chum at a safe house."  
  
"Once we make our move, we have to ensure that he gets 'round-the-clock   
protection."  
  
"I'll mention it to Skinner when I see him."  
  
"Okay. Oh, and just for the record, Mulder: Tim and I may have gone to med   
school together, but I do not consider him a `pal' or a `buddy' or a `chum'. He   
is merely an acquaintance who is serving as an informant on this case. Nothing   
more."  
  
There was a low rumbling noise as Mulder quietly chuckled. "Sure. Fine. Whatever   
you say, Scully. I'll see you in sixty."  
  
Scully could not help but smile to herself as she put away her cell-phone.   
Grabbing a towel, she made her way into the shower. She sighed as the hot water   
beat down on her neck and back, soothing her aching muscles. Closing her eyes,   
she replayed the events of a few days earlier, recalling how she and Mulder got   
involved in this case in the first place.  
  
It had been just after two a.m. when Scully had gotten a phone call from Tim   
Liles, a former medical school classmate who now worked for Andraven   
Laboratories. She had not heard from him since then, and the strained voice on   
the phone was quite the opposite of the confident, ambitious young man she   
remembered from years earlier.  
  
According to the press releases, the lab Liles worked in was researching   
anaerobic bacteria found in the cow rumen so that humans would be able to digest   
the cellulose found in plants. He alluded that the research he was currently   
involved in was not quite so innocuous, and right up her alley. He needed her   
help, he said, and asked to meet with her in a local diner. Curiosity piqued,   
she agreed  
  
An hour later, she and Mulder joined Liles at a back booth in the DeWitt Diner.  
  
"I filled Mulder in with what little I know about Andraven Labs," Scully told   
Tim, "but from what you've said, it sounds like there's much more happening   
behind closed doors that I don't know about."  
  
"No one does, except those of us working in the lab--and Andraven himself. The   
entire project is his idea, actually."  
  
"What project is that?" Mulder asked. "Scully said something about bacteria in   
cow guts. . . ."  
  
Tim's eyes narrowed in irritation as he replied. "Well, it is *bacteria*, and it   
does involve *cattle* to some degree--" He stopped short upon seeing the waitress   
approach.  
  
"Here you go," she said, setting two cups of coffee in front of Mulder and   
Scully. "Enjoy."  
  
"Thank you," Scully said. As soon as the woman was out of earshot, she pressed   
Tim to continue. "What kind of bacteria, Tim?"  
  
Tim took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Anthrax. But we're not talking about   
your typical strain here, Dana. Normally, this disease can wipe out entire   
herds--cattle, sheep, goats, swine--over the course of days or weeks. _Bacillus   
anthracis_ forms spores that are resistant to heat, low temperatures, prolonged   
drying, even chemical disinfectants. We've used biological engineering to create   
a resistant strain; even at extreme conditions that cause the typical bacteria   
to sporulate, it's still viable. At the same time, we've managed to increase its   
virulence: not only will it remain in vegetative form and multiply at an   
accelerated rate, but once it has infected a host it will also spread very   
quickly. We're talking hours instead of days until the host organism will   
succumb."  
  
"So, what are you suggesting, Dr. Liles?" Mulder asked, leaning back in the   
booth and stretching his arms over the back of the seat. "That Andraven is   
looking to off the competition's cattle? That he'll take over the world's beef   
and leather markets and we'll all be eating McAndraven burgers and wearing Air   
Andravens?"  
  
"Even if Andraven's goal were this simple, the unforeseen repercussions could be   
far more devastating than the situation you posit, Mr. Mulder," Tim replied, his   
face cold as stone as he met Mulder's gaze and held it. "A number of years ago,   
in response to Japan's use of biologics as weapons, Britain decided to further   
develop their own biological warfare program. Their focus was on anthrax, and   
its killing ability. Their `laboratory' consisted of Gruinard, an island just   
northeast of Scotland. Their `guinea pigs' were thousands of sheep. But their   
testing was so extensive that the disease spread throughout the entire island."  
  
"I remember reading about this," Scully said, nodding at the familiarity of the   
events Tim described. "Even after terminating their program, they were unable to   
decontaminate the island. Until this day, it's considered an infected area and   
is off limits."  
  
"So you see, Mr. Mulder, even if the victims were cows or sheep or pigs, the   
effects could nonetheless be catastrophic. The agricultural industry would be in   
ruins. But farm animals are not Andraven's intended victims."  
  
"What, then?" Scully asked.  
  
"Not *what*, Dana. *Whom*."  
  
Her eyes widened as she began to comprehend what Tim was implying. "You can't   
mean to say--"  
  
"Why not? Anthrax, botulism . . . they've both been used as agents of biological   
warfare in the past. Chernobyl wasn't the only type of accident to happen to the   
former Soviet Union's industry, you know. Boris Yeltsin finally admitted five or   
so years ago that the anthrax outbreak that occurred in Sverdlovsk in `79 was   
due to an explosion at a biological weapon production plant. And by the time the   
Iraqis invaded Kuwait in `90, they had already spent close to $100 million on   
biological weapons--accumulating quite a stash of them, including agents for the   
spread of botulism and anthrax. Official sources have openly estimated that   
close to twenty countries have, desire, or are in the planning stages for   
biological weapons, Iraq among them. One of these nations is paying Andraven a   
pretty penny for all the work we've been doing to develop a more powerful form   
of anthrax."  
  
"Are you suggesting that Saddam Hussein is backing your lab in return for   
biological weapons he can use in the future against enemy troops?" Scully   
queried, unable to believe the words that had just passed her lips.  
  
"While I'm not privy as to *whom* Andraven's financial backer is, that is   
essentially what I'm suggesting, Dana."  
  
"Hold on just a minute," Mulder said, shaking his head. "I thought you two just   
got through saying that when the Brits tried to perform a controlled experiment   
on sheep it got totally out of hand. How would Hussein or any other would-be   
world-conquering megalomaniac be able to utilize such agents without infecting   
his own troops?"  
  
"Due to the miracle of modern technology, Mr. Mulder," Tim replied, his tone   
bittersweet. "We used genetic engineering to increase the virulence of the   
strain. Similar procedures could potentially be used in order to create a   
particular strain that only a special vaccine can be used to protect against.   
Imagine, if you will, soldiers inoculated against an especially virulent strain   
of anthrax. When they are about to engage the enemy, planes are used to spread   
the bacteria throughout the battlefield. While they remain immune, their   
opponents will drop like flies. They would be able to win a war in a matter of   
days. A biological agent could also potentially be designed so that it would   
attack only those people with a particular genetic makeup, making it a highly   
specialized and effective means of targeting one's enemies. The possibilities   
are limited only by one's imagination and the capabilities of science."  
  
They all sat quietly for several long moments as the enormity of Tim's   
statements weighed upon them. With a weary sigh, Scully was the first to break   
the silence. "Tim, there's one thing that I don't understand," she began softly.  
  
"What's that, Dana?"  
  
"Why come forth with this information now? The kind of work you've described--  
genetic engineering of bacteria--is not a simple process. If you've been   
involved with this project--and presumably working on it for a while now--then   
surely you had to realize the consequences and the applications of your   
research."  
  
Closing his eyes, Tim slowly nodded. He apparently had been expecting this   
question.  
  
"In other words, why the sudden bout of conscience?" Mulder asked with his usual   
degree of tact. "And how the hell do we fit into this picture?"  
  
Across the table, Tim sighed heavily, hands opening as he searched for the   
words--and possibly the courage--to answer. "I admit, when I initially signed   
onto the project, I knew that we were going to be creating a very lethal strain   
of anthrax," Tim began slowly. "And, at the time, that knowledge didn't really   
bother me. This was a challenging venture--one that would enable me to really   
push myself and my abilities. If successful, our research would have a long-  
lasting impact in the scientific community. And, well . . . the pay wasn't too   
shabby, either.  
  
"There were a number of us working on the project, each approaching the problem   
from our own unique perspective. Turned out that my methods proved the most   
successful. A couple months back, as my results started coming in, I quickly   
rose in position in the lab. I'm not running it or anything, but since my   
techniques are vital to the next step of the project, I've been granted higher   
clearance. Out of curiosity, I started asking some questions--and I've thus   
found out that I'm privy to more information than I had when I first signed on   
for the project. I learned that our funding comes from some foreign power. My   
guess is somewhere in the Middle East. Hell, Dana, you might not have been too   
far off suggesting Saddam Hussein. I've also discovered that Andraven   
Laboratories has apparently been involved with other agents of biological   
warfare, the details of which I don't know. All I heard was something about a   
test site in Canada."  
  
Mulder and Scully exchanged a knowing glance.  
  
"In addition, I've overheard Andraven and some others talking about the next   
step of the project." Averting his gaze, Tim reached for his tea. He fidgeted in   
his seat, looking down, as though he could feel their eyes upon him.  
  
"They-they're now looking for human test subjects," he said finally, his voice   
little more than a whisper. Slowly, he raised his head, and managed to meet   
Scully's gaze. "Dana, this strain we've created can drop a rat in less than   
twelve hours. And let me tell you, it's not a pretty death. High fever,   
difficulty breathing, trembling, convulsions. And now they want to do this to   
human beings. I haven't figured out where they're going to get these people   
from. At first I assumed prisoners, the terminally ill--volunteers that have   
nothing to lose. But then I realized--"  
  
"Who in their right mind would willingly subject themselves to a painful death?"   
Mulder interrupted.  
  
Slowly, Tim nodded. "I overheard some of Andraven's people discussing the   
project. Th-they . . . they were talking about . . ." Tim's voice trailed off as   
he brought a quivering hand to his mouth and ran a hand over his goatee. He took   
a few shaky breaths before he was able to continue.  
  
Scully moved her head closer in order to hear his words.  
  
"They mentioned using children as test subjects," Tim told them reluctantly.   
"When I heard that, Dana, I felt so repulsed--with Andraven, the lab, myself   
most of all. I felt so dirty, so vile, knowing that my work was going to be used   
to hurt innocent people. Using biological warfare as a strategy during war is   
one thing--at least, I had somehow managed to rationalize its use and convince   
myself that such a tactic was excusable--but, for God's sakes, using kids? It's   
incomprehensible to me. . . . And where the hell are they planning to get them?   
Do they use orphans? Kidnap children from people's homes? Or maybe they're going   
to attack a school bus?"  
  
As Tim spouted his conjecture, Scully had to fight the urge to scream at him to   
stop. His words were hitting painfully close to home--for both she and her   
partner. Rationally, she knew that he did not realize the implications of his   
statements. Nonetheless, she wondered how Tim would react if he knew his   
suppositions were likely not far from the truth, at least as far as Mulder and   
she had seen and experienced.  
  
Beside her, Mulder had gone tense. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but could   
not find the words. Licking his dry lips, he tried again. "Did- did they say   
when they were going to perform these experiments?"  
  
Slowly, Tim shook his head. "I'm not sure when--for all I know they may have   
started already. Hell, given their involvement in the past with other agents of   
biological warfare, these kind of tests may have been going on for years."  
  
Seeing a shiver run through Mulder, Scully slowly reached over and put a hand on   
his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. She glanced back at Tim, and saw that   
he was watching her curiously. Feeling her cheeks grow warm, she quickly broke   
eye contact. But her hand remained where it was.  
  
"I realized at that point that I had to do something to stop this," Tim   
continued, glancing from Scully to Mulder. "It wouldn't be enough for me to   
merely step away--not that I think they'd let me, especially if they realized   
how much I knew. No, even if I walked away now, they could still use my work to   
kill countless people--innocent people. I want to put an end to it, once and for   
all. I want Andraven to answer for his crimes."  
  
"So you want us to open a case, and investigate the true nature of the research   
going on at Andraven Laboratories?" Mulder asked, his tone returning to normal.  
  
"For all the good it'll do," Scully chimed in. "Microbiological research,   
whether utilizing harmless or virulent organisms, will look the same as far as   
laboratory set-up. It's not until you start examining samples under the   
microscope that their true nature becomes evident. If we're going to have any   
chance of making charges stick, we're going to need definitive proof."  
  
"Meaning a sample of the anthrax strain?" Mulder inquired.  
  
She nodded. "And we'll never be able to get that if Andraven knows we're on to   
him."  
  
"I know," Tim said. "But I think *I* can get you that proof."  
  
"How?" Mulder asked.  
  
"It won't be easy. Security is tight, and procedures are strict in my lab. Every   
piece of equipment, every drop of reagent, is accounted for. A good friend of   
mine works in another lab, on one of the projects that the public knows about,   
where rules aren't so stringent. She's willing to give me an innocuous culture--  
a placebo, effectively--that I can switch for an anthrax sample, so that I can   
smuggle it out without it being missed."  
  
"You're sure you can trust her?" Mulder questioned.  
  
Tim nodded. "Yeah, we did out post-doc together, and for a while we used to go   
out. I haven't told her much--I figure, the less she knows, the better--but   
she's willing to help me out."  
  
"You're incurring an awfully big risk, Tim," Scully told him. "Are you sure you   
want to go through with this?"  
  
"Dana, the way I see it, if I can save at least one life that would have been   
destroyed by this bastard Andraven, then any risk is worth it."  
  
"Pretty impressive words, Liles, coming from a man who's going to sneak a little   
tube of bacteria out under his lab coat to ease his conscience," Mulder   
commented dryly. "Too bad it won't mean shit as far as the courts are   
concerned."  
  
Tim stared at Mulder, puzzled. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Even if you get us that vial and it proves to have a killer strain of anthrax   
in it, it's not going to do us a damn bit of good. We're not going to be able to   
link it back to Andraven or his lab. It's not enough."  
  
Tim looked from Mulder to Scully.  
  
"Mulder's right, Tim. We're going to need your testimony if we're to have any   
hopes of putting Andraven away."  
  
"You willing to put your money where your mouth is?" Mulder asked him.  
  
Tim went a deathly shade of white. With two shaking hands, he brought his cup of   
tea to his mouth. Slowly, he placed it back down again. He picked up his napkin   
and wiped his mouth. Watching his every move, Mulder and Scully waited anxiously   
for his reply. Finally, he looked up at them. Then, slowly, he nodded his head.   
"All right," Tim whispered. " I'm willing to do whatever it takes to see justice   
served."  
  
  
End Chapter 1  
  
  
***** 


	2. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 02/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
"I'm sorry I'm so late," Scully gasped as she entered the office. She was out of   
breath from the stairs, too impatient to have waited for the elevator. Drenched   
from the storm that raged outside, she placed down her briefcase and umbrella,   
and carefully removed her coat to hang on the rack, sneezing in the process.   
"The weather made the roads horrible, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper on the   
highway," she informed her partner as she walked over to her desk and sat down,   
opening her briefcase and removing a folder. "Before that, though, I had to wait   
over two hours for the lab at Quantico to finish their analysis of those   
cultures. I've only perused the lab report, but I think we've got the evidence   
we need. I tried to call, but for some reason the machine kept on picking up,   
and because of the storm, my cell-phone was on the fritz." Her statement   
punctuated by another sneeze, she reached for a tissue. "Mulder?" she called out   
as she blew her nose. There came no reply. In fact, she realized then that he   
has been unusually quiet since she returned. Looking over at him, she now   
understood the reason.  
  
Mulder sat hunched over the counter behind his desk, sorting through some   
slides. No doubt preparing for his testimony at the hearing on Monday. He made   
no indication that he even heard Scully enter the room.  
  
"You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" she asked, her tone a mixture of   
amusement and irritation. When there came no reply, and another sneezing fit   
overwhelmed her, the latter emotion began to quickly win out. Scully had spent   
the better part of a day trekking over to Quantico, enduring the worst storm she   
could remember in years. She put up with snail-paced, snippety lab techs,   
navigated past a seven-car pile up and more rubber-neckers then she ever dreamed   
could exist--likely catching a cold in the process, if her sneezing were any   
indication--and now he did not even have the decency to acknowledge her   
presence, let alone her actions?  
  
*Why the hell do I put up with him?* she wondered. She knew she had a right to   
be angry. He often became so immersed in the work that solving a case was all   
that mattered. During such times, proper procedure became a foreign term. She   
would never deny the fact that he was a brilliant investigator, solving cases   
with only a few seemingly unconnecting pieces of the puzzle. Despite his   
incredible intellect, however, in other areas he could be terribly thoughtless.   
Even though they were partners, and she knew that he respected her opinions and   
her skill as both a scientist and an agent, there were times when she had felt   
as though he were ordering her around, *telling* her to work on some aspect of a   
case while he went off on his own to follow up some longshot lead.  
  
Today, in fact, was no exception. She had been working on polishing her autopsy   
report when he asked her to go to Quantico and see how the culture analyses were   
progressing and to try to hurry the lab techs along for the results if at all   
possible. Not that she minded helping out in this case however she could--and,   
quite frankly, this aspect of the investigation *was* more in her line of   
expertise--it was just that she would prefer if for once it did not sound like a   
requisition coming from a superior agent.  
  
More often than not, there was a method to Mulder's madness, and their combined   
efforts proved fruitful. But there had been many times when the potential costs   
did not seem worth it. He frequently behaved in a manner she could only describe   
as foolish or dangerous, risking his life and career--not to mention hers on   
occasion. She had lost count of how many times these acts had landed him in the   
hospital. She always wanted to admonish him for his reckless behavior. But then   
all he had to do was flash her one of those pitiful puppy dog looks--it often   
was not a conscious act, she knew--and her anger would dissipate. Usually, she   
was just thankful he had made it through his ordeal more or less in one piece.  
  
Watching him working at his task so intently, a memory suddenly flashed before   
her mind's eye. She was reminded of the day she was assigned to the X-Files. She   
had entered this office for the first time over six years earlier, greeted by a   
bespectacled Mulder who sported a guarded smile as he gazed up at her and shook   
her hand, declaring "Isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded?" in his   
customary sardonic manner. Ever since that moment, she was lost. There was a   
physical attraction, yes, but they had also connected on an intellectual and   
emotional level as well. No matter how much he tried to live up to his "Spooky"   
reputation, no matter how many times he attempted to scare her away--all the   
while spewing wild theories regarding the paranormal--she refused to give up so   
easily. She was able to look past that spooky facade and the sarcastic jokes to   
see how much more there was to Mulder.  
  
In this man was an enthusiasm and a drive she had found equaled in no other.   
*I have never met anyone as passionate and dedicated to a belief as you.* She   
admired the incredible faith he held--in his beliefs, the work they did, the   
answers they sought. His loyalty and devotion, not only to the X-Files, but also   
to their partnership, made her cherish their friendship even more. He had been   
there for her through some of the most difficult times in her life--her father's   
death, the loss of her sister, her own recovery following her abduction, her   
battle with cancer--standing beside her, providing strength when she was weak,   
an ear when she needed to talk, a shoulder when she needed to cry. Yes, he had   
his faults like any other--his desire to learn the truth often giving him   
tunnel-vision and a reckless disregard for his own personal safety immediately   
coming to mind--but the fact of the matter was, whenever she had truly needed   
him, he had been there for her, unconditionally. *That's why you put up with   
him,* she thought.  
  
Over these past several years, they had come to know one another with the   
familiarity of lifelong friends. Though they did not always agree--on theories,   
or even methods of investigation--they both sought justice and the answers to   
their questions, and as partners, they complemented one another perfectly. At   
times, they were in such sync that Scully felt it were as though they could read   
one another's thoughts. Two halves of the same whole, she often found herself   
thinking. Soulmates, Melissa would have called it.  
  
Scully smiled. She had come to know, to trust, and to care about Mulder as she   
had no other. She loved him--as partner, best friend, confidant--and she knew   
that he loved her as well. But ever since her fight with cancer and her   
resulting near brush with death, she had come to realize the depth of her   
feelings for her partner: She was in love with him. Whether he returned those   
feelings she was uncertain. These past few months, she had found herself toeing   
a fine line between friendship and something more, especially during this last   
case--which Mulder had been pursuing with an urgency he usually reserved for   
those times when his missing sister was somehow involved.  
  
They had been functioning with an incredible efficiency, playing off of one   
another's theories, solving the investigation in record time; the fact that they   
were able to arrest their suspect with what they hoped would be sufficient   
evidence to go to trial was a feat in and of itself where the X-Files were   
concerned. During this case, they had been at an all-time best, functioning like   
a well-oiled machine, partners working as one. Mulder sensed it too, his   
satisfaction at their performance evident not only in his words, but also his   
actions. Though now, as always, he never crossed the line of impropriety--always   
treating her with the utmost respect--the number and duration of the little   
touches he had given her during the course of their interactions had increased   
as of late, a fact that Scully secretly relished.  
  
She had been giving their relationship a great deal of thought recently,   
considering the consequences if it were to suddenly become more intimate. Now,   
as they prepared to give their testimony for the indictment on Monday--Mulder   
preparing with his usual degree of energy--she realized that if she wanted their   
relationship to change, to proceed to the next level, now was the time to make a   
move. They had never been closer; Scully knew it would conceivably take very   
little to push them across the fine line they had unofficially drawn all those   
years ago--that is, provided Mulder was as willing to cross it as she was.  
  
*And that, dear Dana,* she mused, *seems to be the sixty-four thousand dollar   
question.* Ever the one for subtlety and precaution, she had decided that the   
best way to pursue the matter was to first test the waters; she had been   
conservative thus far where Mulder was concerned, so she might as well take her   
time before rushing in. She sure as hell did not want to risk negatively   
affecting the relationship they already had. After six years of a strictly   
platonic partnership, what was a little more time?  
  
At the moment, however, she had other more pressing matters with which to   
attend. During her ponderings, Mulder had still not noticed her presence. With a   
sigh, she got up and walked over to his desk, noticing case notes and reports   
strewn across its surface. Crossing her arms across her chest, she was just   
about to clear her throat to get his attention when he spun around in his chair   
to retrieve something from his desk.  
  
He looked up at her and smiled. "Hey, Scully. When'd you get back?"  
  
She sighed. "Several minutes ago. Geez, Mulder, you've been at it non-stop since   
I left for Quantic--" she looked at her watch-- "over five hours ago."  
  
"Not true. I got up to get a cup of coffee, and then again about an hour later   
when my bladder decided it was time to give it back," he replied with a weary   
smirk.  
  
Now that she was able, she took a good look at his face. The stray locks of hair   
falling onto his forehead gave his features a boyish charm, and she had to fight   
back the urge to rumple his hair and brush back those curls. But then she   
noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and what had to be at least two days   
worth of stubble. *He looks even more exhausted than I feel,* Scully realized,   
concern replacing any remnants of annoyance. They had both been putting in a lot   
of extra hours on this case, trying to ensure that they had enough evidence to   
bring Andraven to trial. But Mulder had been staying late every night this past   
week, and coming in earlybesides. It looked like he had been sleeping even less   
than usual. And she would bet that he had not had a decent meal in days. . . .  
  
Realizing that he was speaking to her, Scully cut her musings short.  
  
". . . get the lab reports?" Mulder was asking her.  
  
"Yes," she replied. Retrieving the file from her desk, she handed it to him. "As   
with the samples recovered from Blair's lab, nearly all of the cultures we found   
in Tim's lab proved negative for any sort of potentially hazardous materials.   
Just various anaerobic bacteria found living in rumen of cattle. They live there   
symbiotically, helping the animals to digest cellulose for energy in return for   
the oxygen-free environment they need in order to survive."  
  
"*Nearly* all? Meaning one came up positive?"  
  
Scully nodded, pleased that Mulder picked up on on the subtle implication of her   
statement. She still found it ironic that he was able to read her so well in the   
context of work, and yet be totally clueless about how she felt about him on a   
more personal level.  
  
"So, what've we got?" Mulder inquired, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"_Bacillus anthracis_, just as Tim said," Scully replied. "The lab techs   
injected some mice with the sample, and it killed them in less than six hours.   
They sacrificed some other mice about an hour after injection. I took a look at   
the blood smears myself--they were riddled with bacteria. This is an extremely   
virulent strain, Mulder, with an accelerated cell cycle. Normally, anthrax takes   
a minimum of forty-eight hours to cause death.  
  
"It will require more testing to verify, but the strain we found does appear to   
be genetically engineered. As we discussed with Tim, the research Andraven's   
labs are supposedly doing on rumen microorganisms is likely just a cover-up.   
This adds credence to the theory that their real goal is to develop an   
especially virulent strain of anthrax for use as a biological weapon. As we   
assumed, they apparently knew we were coming, and managed to remove virtually   
all of the anthrax samples."  
  
"Why, Scully, you're beginning to sound as paranoid as me," Mulder remarked with   
a smirk. "Don't tell me that after all these years I'm finally beginning to rub   
off on you?"  
  
"Don't get your hopes up, Mulder," she answered. "We were lucky to have found   
those culture tubes in one of the biohazard disposal containers, because it was   
one of those discarded samples that contained the anthrax."  
  
"If I remember correctly, Scully, you were the one who spotted the tubes and   
suggested we have them tested along with the others," he pointed out. "Great   
work. This is probably the vital piece of evidence we need to link Andraven to   
the engineered disease and make the charges stick."  
  
Scully found herself smiling in spite of herself at his words of praise. *Get a   
grip, Dana. It's not as though you need his approval. . . .* "I still don't see   
why you insisted that I go pick up the lab report in person," she remarked, her   
tone cool, though not completely hostile. "They could just as easily have faxed   
or messengered it over this afternoon." As soon as the words escaped her lips,   
she wondered why she had uttered them. It were as though she could not accept   
his praise. Whenever a situation presented itself for them to draw closer, to   
admit that they appreciated the other's presence, that they cared for one   
another, she always seemed to pull away or erect a barrier between them. *Why is   
that, Dana? Do you fear the thought of his praise creating increased intimacy?   
And you consider _Mulder_ to be emotionally repressed. . . .*  
  
"I just wanted to make sure we have all of the evidence in our hands as we   
prepare our testimony," Mulder said, his voice and expression indicating he took   
no offense at her questioning his decision. "Same reason I'm going over these   
records and setting up some slides. Everything's got to be in place if we're   
gonna put Andraven behind bars."  
  
"Mulder, we have done everything by the book on this one. Skinner even seemed   
pleasantly surprised with our handling of the case. With Tim's testimony, there   
should be sufficient evidence for the judge to rule that Andraven goes to   
trial."  
  
Mulder nodded. A moment of silence passed, but then it was as though a page had   
turned inside his mind, and she could see just by looking at him that his   
thoughts had moved on to another matter. "I remember reading something about the   
type of anthrax that killed Blair in the autopsy results you gave me," Mulder   
said, sifting through the piles of papers on his desk. "You said she died of--"   
Finding the report, he quickly scanned down the page. ". . . fulminant anthrax."   
He looked up at her expectantly.  
  
"That merely means a form of anthrax characterized by sudden onset," Scully   
explained. "The course of the disease is extremely rapid, and is typically   
fatal."  
  
"Quite a coincidence that both the disease that killed Blair and the strain that   
was found in Liles' lab can both kill so quickly, isn't it?" he asked.  
  
"Even so, we still have no way to directly link Blair's death to Andraven," she   
replied, once again crossing her arms. "He's still claiming that she was   
accidentally infected from a contaminated sample she handled."  
  
Mulder was quiet for several moments, sitting back in his chair and chewing   
thoughtfully on his thumbnail. "Too bad we can't detect if this strain is   
genetically engineered," he remarked offhandedly.  
  
Her eyes widened as a thought arose. "That's it! I don't know why it didn't   
occur to me sooner. Mulder, if this strain is genetically engineered, then there   
would be some mutations in the usual genetic code that would increase its   
virulence, as well as accelerate its reproduction."  
  
"And these changes are detectable?"  
  
She nodded. "If we sequence the DNA of the sample isolated from the culture   
found in Andraven's lab, as well as that of the strain Tim managed to sneak out   
to us, and compare them to the genetic code of the strain that killed Blair--"  
  
". . . and it matches--" Mulder, too, was growing excited as the last piece of   
the puzzle suddenly began to fall into place.  
  
". . . then we can link the work being done in Andraven's lab to the infection   
and subsequent death of Blair!" Scully finished. "I'll call the lab at Quantico   
and have a PCR performed stat," she said, reaching for her cell-phone and   
dialing the lab. She quickly ordered the test. "They're going to rush it," she   
told Mulder once she hung up the phone, "but, even assuming no unforeseen   
problems, they won't have any results until Monday morning at the earliest."  
  
"Cutting it awfully close, aren't we?"  
  
"It's the best they can do, Mulder. Don't worry, we'll get him."  
  
"I hope you're right, Scully. Andraven *has* to be part of the bigger picture,"   
Mulder replied, opening up the file she had handed him earlier. "This case had   
brought us closer to the Truth. I can feel it." He stifled a yawn.  
  
"What you're feeling, Mulder, is no doubt exhaustion after going at it for   
nearly six hours straight. You need to take a break."  
  
"I'm okay, Scully. This needs to get done. The hearing's on Monday."  
  
"Mulder, that leaves plenty of time to prepare over the weekend."  
  
"I want to go over our reports and my notes, to prepare for my testimony. I want   
to make sure we've covered all the bases. We can't afford to let this one get   
away. You go on home, if you want. I'm gonna stay a while." He began to sort   
through some of the files on his desk.  
  
Shaking her head, Scully headed back to her desk. "I might as well type up some   
notes for my own testimony." Hearing Mulder muttering something about missing   
photos, she sat down and booted up her computer. She was rummaging through a   
drawer when she heard a loud popping sound, followed almost immediately by a   
yelp of pain from her partner.  
  
"Mulder, are you okay?" she asked, looking over at his desk. He was nowhere to   
be seen. Guided by the colorful phrases he was muttering, she quickly located   
him kneeling on the floor behind his desk, grasping his shoulder.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I bent down to pick up a file that fell, and must have wrenched my shoulder in   
the process," he replied through clenched teeth as Scully helped him to his feet   
and he sat down heavily in his chair.  
  
"Let me take a look," she said, reaching for his shoulder.  
  
"It's no big deal, Scully."  
  
"I'm the doctor. Let me be the judge of that," she insisted. She placed her hand   
over his--keeping it there perhaps a moment or two longer than she should. She   
slowly moved his hand aside before carefully examining his shoulder. She   
gingerly rotated his arm in the joint in different directions. Judging from his   
reaction, she determined that it was not seriously injured; it was likely not   
even sprained. During her probing, however, she discovered a far different   
ailment. "Mulder, your muscles are one big knot. Didn't anyone ever tell you   
that sitting in one position for several hours is not good for you?" she   
chastised, even as she began to rub his shoulders.  
  
"This coming from a woman who spends hours hunched over tables, hacking away at   
dead bodi--eeyowch!"  
  
Satisfied at the reaction she got from squeezing his tender shoulder a little   
too hard, she let go and prepared to return to her desk. *Two can play at that   
game, Mulder.*  
  
"Hey, Scully. . . ." she heard him call.  
  
*Gotcha.* She stopped and turned to face him, feigning surprise.  
  
He looked up at her sheepishly. "My back . . . it's still a little stiff. Think   
you could rub it some more?" he asked, his bottom lip coming out in a child-like   
pout.  
  
The game was lost. One of those looks, and she was done for. Of course, there   
was no reason for him to know that he had already won. "Will you promise to take   
a break for a while?" Scully asked, mock sternness in her voice.  
  
"Well, I *am* getting hungry," he admitted. "Coffee's not very filling, you   
know."  
  
"If you're willing to step back from this for a little while, then we can go get   
some dinner--my treat," she offered as she resumed the massage.  
  
"Mmm. . . ." He lowered his head. She could feel his muscles relax as the   
tension began to leave his shoulders. "Do I get to pick the place?"  
  
"Depends. What are you in the mood for?"  
  
"Italian."  
  
"Mulder, if your idea of Italian is an anchovy and pineapple pizza--"  
  
"No, actually, I was thinking of Tufano's."  
  
This time, her surprise was not false. Tufano's? That small, cozy restaurant   
with the soft candlelight and violinists? Scully had heard one of the lab techs   
raving about the place. And she thought one of the secretaries once said that   
was where her husband proposed to her. Mulder wanted to go there? "Well, sure,   
Mulder, if you want to. . . ."  
  
"I hear their pasta's outstanding, served in huge portions, with all the garlic   
bread you can eat. And their pastries are to die for."  
  
*All the garlic bread you can eat? Cozy indeed. Just like a man to be thinking   
of his stomach. . . .*  
  
Mulder sighed. "Scully, did anyone ever tell you that you've got magic fingers?"  
  
She smiled. "Good for more than just hacking up dead bodies, huh, Mulder?"  
  
His reply was merely another sigh of contentment. "If I knew you could do this,   
I'd've hurt my shoulder more often."  
  
"Who says my talents are limited to shoulders?"  
  
For a moment, she felt him stiffen beneath her fingers. *Lord, Dana, where the   
hell did that come from?* Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she let go of his   
shoulders and walked back toward her desk. "So, we on for Tufano's?" she asked.  
  
"Sure," he replied, pulling off his glasses and tossing them onto his desk. Was   
that a hint of disappointment she heard in his voice? "Just let me get these   
files together." He glanced over at Scully even as she gave him one of her   
looks. "For this weekend," he explained. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take a break   
for a while."  
  
"Good. Because after the week we've had, I can use a few drinks to unwind," she   
remarked with a mischievous grin. *Be a little more subtle, why don't you, Dana?   
Damn, you're out of practice. . . .* She quickly averted her gaze as she   
gathered her own paperwork into her briefcase.  
  
Suddenly, she felt his breath on the back of her neck even as he whispered in   
her ear, "Red or white?"  
  
"What?" she asked, quickly spinning around to face him. *Is it getting warmer in   
here?*   
  
"Do you prefer red or white wine?" he asked, holding out her   
coat.  
  
"Red," she replied, slipping her arms into her coat and buttoning it. "You?"  
  
He stood across from her, merely a foot or two away, gazing into her eyes.   
Before she realized what was happening, he took a step closer and his hand moved   
toward her, his fingers lightly brushing against her cheek as he reached past   
her neck to gently release several locks of hair that were tucked in the lapel   
of her coat. "Definitely red."  
  
With a smile, she reached for her briefcase. "Ready?"  
  
"Yeah, let's go." Gently placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided   
Scully toward the door and out of the office.  
  
  
End Chapter 2  
  
  
***** 


	3. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 03/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
"Mulder, next time you pick an out-of-the-way place for dinner--in the pouring   
rain, I should add--you might want to mention the fact that we need   
reservations," Scully grumbled as she sloshed across the hallway toward her   
apartment. She was soaked to the bone and covered with mud--thanks to her   
partner. It could be worse, she kept trying to tell herself .. . at least she   
had not been cocooned by green bugs or inundated by the remains of an exploding   
manure factory.  
  
After learning that Tufano's was booked for the night--it seemed that even   
torrential rain could not keep people from their pasta and garlic bread--they   
opted for take-out. Mulder still insisted on Italian, so they stopped at a pizza   
parlor. Fearing for her tastebuds if she were to allow Mulder to pick our   
dinner, Scully offered to get the food while he waited out front with the car.   
That was her first mistake.  
  
She ordered a couple of meatball Parmesan heroes, and after receiving her order,   
made a dash for the car. Second mistake. As soon as she stepped outside, she   
realized the car was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the street, but there was   
no sign of Mulder or his vehicle. Of course, it was at this moment that an   
enormous gust of wind wreaked havoc with her umbrella, turning it inside out.   
She struggled with it, trying not to drop their dinner, all the while the rain   
pouring down on her.  
  
Then she heard the beep of a car horn. She saw the car heading toward her from   
down the block. She hastened to the curb, preparing to jump inside. Third, and   
final mistake. As Mulder pulled up, he drove through the mother of all puddles,   
which splashed on her, saturating Scully from head to toe. So much for her   
favorite navy blue pants suit.  
  
Scully stood there several moments in shock. It was not until Mulder reached   
over and opened the door and shouted for her to get inside that she was finally   
able to move again. She got into the car and slammed the door behind her.  
  
"Where the hell were you?" she grumbled through clenched teeth.  
  
"I'm sorry, Scully. It was a No Standing Zone and--"  
  
"I don't want to hear it. Shut up and drive."  
  
"Where to--your place or mine?"  
  
Scully glared at him. She would have taken out her gun and shot him, but she was   
too busy shivering.  
  
"Yours is closer," he replied, shifting the car into drive and pulling away.  
  
They drove in silence for several long minutes. Mulder stole a glance at her. He   
tried to hide the grin, but before long he started laughing.  
  
She tried to ignore him, but her patience grew short. "What's so damned funny?"  
  
"You, Scully," he managed between chuckles. "You look like you'd be right at   
home in my fish tank."  
  
"Don't flatter me, Mulder," she replied tersely. "You hardly ever feed your   
fish." Then a sneezing fit hit.  
  
His brow furrowed, and she could hear the concern in his voice when he spoke   
next. "You cold?"  
  
"Wh-Wh-Whatever g-gave you th-that idea?" she snapped through chattering teeth.  
  
"I'm sorry, Scully. I really didn't mean for you to get soaked." He reached over   
to the temperature control and cranked up the heat. "We should be there in about   
ten minutes."  
  
Crossing her arms across her chest to try to keep warm, Scully just nodded her   
head. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Mulder miraculously found a   
parking space right in front of her building. He told her to stay put for a   
moment, and, after grabbing something from the back seat, rushed out of the car.   
A moment later, her door opened, and he was standing there with an open umbrella   
and an extended hand.  
  
Grabbing their food and slinging the strap of her briefcase across her shoulder,   
Scully placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the car. He   
wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him to ensure that she   
was shielded from the rain as they made their way up the front steps and toward   
her place.  
  
Her fingers were now so frozen that she could not manage to get the key into the   
lock. Mulder gently took them from Scully and unlocked the door, holding it open   
for her. She walked into the foyer and started turning on lights. Placing the   
food and her bag down on a table, she started to unbutton her coat, but stopped   
as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.  
  
It began as a low rumble in her throat, but before she knew it, she was   
laughing.  
  
"What?" Mulder asked, walking over to her.  
  
Seeing his reflection beside hers, Scully's chuckles escalated to guffaws.  
  
Mulder stared at her, a bewildered look on his face. This only made Scully laugh   
harder. The tears were now running down her cheeks, smearing the mud that had   
caked there. "I . . . I really do look like I took a swim in your tank!" she   
gasped, the last word swallowed by a hiccup.  
  
Mulder smiled. She turned to face him. "And how the hell did you manage to stay   
as dry as you were before we left the office?" she asked him, looking at his   
suit and coat, not a spot of mud on him.  
  
He looked down at himself and shrugged. Soon they were both chuckling.  
  
Scully was reminded of a night six years earlier, of two new partners laughing   
over an empty grave in an Oregon cemetery as the rain beat down heavily. It had   
been a long time since she had laughed with such careless abandon. She did not   
know quite how it happened, but her head fell forward to rest on Mulder's chest.   
She felt his arm come around her shoulders to rub her back. Slowly, their   
laughter faded. Silence reigned again, and a shiver ran through her. It was not   
from the cold or the wetness.  
  
"You're trembling, Scully. You should get out of these wet clothes," he said,   
helping her remove her coat. She unbuttoned her blazer, and was about to turn   
away to head for her bedroom to change when he reached for her chin, cupping it   
with his hand and tilting her face up toward his. Scully found herself holding   
her breath as she stared into his eyes. His thumb moved across her cheek,   
stroking it. "You had some mud there," he explained softly, though he did not   
break contact.  
  
"Thanks," she replied, still gazing at his face.  
  
"Well, I suppose you want to shower and change," he said finally, dropping his   
hand and turning to hang up her coat and his own.  
  
Scully found herself standing there, feeling colder than ever. She wondered what   
would be a better remedy--a hot bath or the warm embrace of her partner? She   
forced herself to move. "I'm going to stick the sandwiches in the oven to heat   
up while I shower," she told him, grabbing the bag and heading for the kitchen.   
"Make yourself at home, Mulder. You know where everything is, right?"  
  
"Yep. Go on, Scully. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."  
  
"Okay. I won't be long." Scully walked into the bathroom. Closing the door, she   
began to undress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She absently   
placed her hand on the spot Mulder had only moments earlier, and closed her   
eyes, remembering the feel of his gentle caress.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Feeling refreshed after a hot shower and much warmer in a comfortable pair of   
silk pajamas and a robe, Scully headed for the kitchen. She stopped suddenly as   
she caught sight of the dining room table, her eyes widening in surprise. There   
were two lit candles in the center. Place settings for two, complete with long-  
stemmed glasses and a bottle of red wine. She heard the crackling of burning   
wood and looked to see the small orange flames dancing in her fireplace. In the   
background, she heard the soft melody of a saxophone coming from her CD player.  
  
"Feeling better?" Mulder asked, emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates   
with the steaming heroes, which he placed down on the table. He had shed his   
suit coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his tie loosened around   
his neck. Scully's mouth began to water . . . at the sight of the food or her   
partner, she could not say.  
  
"Much better," she replied, walking hesitantly toward the table. "Mulder, what's   
all this?"  
  
"Well, I felt badly about Tufano's, and the rain, and the mud. Come on and sit   
down," he told her, pulling out a chair.  
  
"Thank you," she replied, sitting down. "Mulder, you really didn't have to do   
this."  
  
"I know, but I wanted to. Consider it my way of saying thank you for putting up   
with me all week," he said, picking up the wine bottle to open. "I know it can   
be hell to be around me when I get consumed by a case."  
  
"My protests earlier tonight to the contrary, I was just as absorbed with this   
investigation as you were, Mulder. I think it's all either of us has been   
thinking about this past week."  
  
"Well, I think we both need to take your advice, Scully, and step back from it   
for a while. We've both been putting in a lot of extra hours this week. We   
deserve the breather. We can even consider this a pre-celebratory dinner--for   
bringing Andraven into custody. The real party to be held the day the jury finds   
him guilty." His statement was punctuated with the pop of the cork.   
As he poured, Scully read the label, and realized that the bottle was not from   
her refrigerator. "Mulder, when'd you get this wine?"  
  
He grinned sheepishly, avoiding her gaze like a small child who had been caught   
with his hand in the cookie jar. "This is, uh, kind of the reason I, uhm, left   
you standing out in the rain, Scully," he admitted as he sat down. "I spotted a   
liquor store a block away from the pizza place. I intended to run in and be back   
before you had gotten the food, but I didn't quite make it in time. . . ."  
  
"So it wasn't a No Standing Zone?" she asked, feigning indignation.  
  
"I don't think so. . . . But who the hell could read a parking sign in that   
downpour anyway?"  
  
She smiled. "It was a very thoughtful gesture, Mulder. Even if I got a   
spontaneous mud bath in the process."  
  
"I'm sorry about that, Scully. I'll pay the dry cleaning bill--"  
  
"Don't worry about it," she told him, any residual anger she harbored suddenly   
forgotten. "I'm hungry, let's eat."  
  
"Cheers," he said, holding up his glass.  
  
"Cheers," she echoed as their glasses clinked. They sipped the wine and began to   
eat. Neither felt a need to speak. Instead, they listened to the sounds around   
them: the rain beating down on the windows outside, the fire popping and   
crackling, and the gentle melody of the music.  
  
Mulder was right--Scully *had* felt a change between them these past few days as   
they had been busy with the Andraven case. They had interacted with the usual   
ease of partners who have worked together for so long that they know what the   
other is thinking and can even predict how he or she will react to almost any   
given situation. She could only describe it as the feeling of slipping into a   
comfortable pair of old jeans that you have broken in just the way you like   
them. They fit like a glove, and you hardly notice they're there. That was the   
feeling she usually had when she and Mulder worked together. But now, there was   
something else. She had sensed something more. And if his words and actions   
tonight was any indication, Mulder perceived it, too.  
  
There was a storm brewing, and not just outside her door. Things were coming to   
a head. Scully had a feeling that their partnership was about to evolve--to   
progress to a new level--and that things would never quite be the same for   
Mulder and her ever again. That thought both frightened and excited her. But if   
there was anything these past six years had taught her, it was that if she must   
face the unknown, there was no one she would rather have at her side than Fox   
Mulder.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
After dinner, Mulder told Scully to go relax while he cleaned up. Deciding that   
she might as well make the most of his sudden consideration, she walked into the   
living room. Still a bit chilly, she sat down on the floor in front of the fire.   
She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top. She gazed into the   
fireplace, watching the yellow-orange flames lap at the wood. Several sparks   
flung off from the main blaze, and she watched, entranced, as the embers slowly   
faded to darkness.  
  
A while later, she heard Mulder approach, and looked up at him. He silently   
proffered one of the two steaming mugs he held. Smiling, Scully took it, and the   
sweet aroma of mint tea filled her nose. She cradled the mug in her hands, her   
eyes returning to the fire, as Mulder settled down beside her. He said nothing,   
but followed her gaze, and stared into the flames.  
  
She took a cautious sip of her tea, and was pleasantly surprised when her tongue   
was greeted by the sweet taste of added honey. As she swallowed, the smooth warm   
liquid soothed the ache that was beginning to form in her throat. She smiled.   
Mulder never ceased to amaze her. There had been times when he had behaved so   
foolishly, so selfishly, that she was sure that there would be no changing him.   
But then, just when she was ready to give up on him, he did something incredibly   
generous and thoughtful. Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops. She wondered   
if now might not be such a bad time to test those waters into which she was   
thinking of swimming.  
  
Mulder moved to readjust his position, and she saw him wince in pain.  
  
"Your shoulder still bothering you?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.  
  
He shrugged. "Just a little stiff."  
  
"You up for another back rub?"  
  
"Be warned, Scully, I now know better than to refuse a touch from those magic   
fingers of yours."  
  
"I ought to start charging by the minute," she joked as she put down her mug and   
scooted over behind him. Sitting up on her knees, she placed her hands on either   
side of his neck and slowly began to knead the muscles of his shoulders and   
back. "Feel good?"  
  
"Mmm . . ."  
  
"I take it that's a yes?"  
  
"Mmm hmm."  
  
As she continued the massage, her thoughts drifted, her mood becoming   
reflective. In the six years they had known one another, she wondered why it was   
they had never done this before. Just sitting together quietly, enjoying one   
another's company. No work to bother them, no case to investigate. Just Mulder,   
her, and a fire to keep them warm on a rainy night. It was something so new, but   
it felt so right. Scully sighed contentedly.  
  
Scully turned her head to glimpse at the man beside her. The light of the fire   
illuminated a portion of his face, casting the other part in shadow. She looked   
at his silhouette, taking in the sight of him--all of the features that made up   
his handsome face: his dark brown hair that fell haphazardly onto his forehead,   
his broad nose, the strong line of his jaw now shadowed with stubble, his full   
lips. Her gaze lingered at his eyes, reflecting the bright flames. Mulder always   
had such a haunted look in his eyes. He had been through so much in his thirty-  
seven years, this dark, brooding partner of hers. He had survived so much   
tragedy. She wished she could take that pain away from him, even if only for a   
night.  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Are you happy with your life?"  
  
"Define happy."  
  
"Are you satisfied with how things have turned out? With where you are in the   
world at this stage in your life?"  
  
"Jesus, Scully, how much wine did you have?"  
  
"Same as you, Mulder--which is not even enough to get a buzz. Just answer the   
question."  
  
"I don't know." He was quiet for a long while before he continued. "Part of me   
is, I guess. I mean, I love my job. I love the challenge the X-Files presents,   
the way the work forces me to keep my mind sharp. I enjoy the having to solve   
each new mystery by fitting together the pieces of a puzzle. Especially since I   
even managed to find a partner who puts up with me and my spooky ideas."  
  
"Really? Must be a very patient person."  
  
"Oh, she is. Very patient. Very compassionate. Very smart. She a tough one,   
though. She never lets me get away with just spouting possible theories. No, we   
have to have proof. We have to produce evidence. Everything has an explanation--  
and usually one that can be accounted for by science."  
  
"Imagine that."  
  
"I'm not complaining, mind you. She's been a positive influence on me. She's   
helped justify the work, to make it more legitimate. But more than that--she's   
become a good friend. You know, I don't think I ever knew the real meaning of   
that word until I met her. She accepts me for who I am. She tolerates my crazy   
stunts, and patches me up when things don't go exactly as planned. There's no   
one I trust more than her. She's everything I could have hoped for in a partner.   
Well, except for maybe one thing."  
  
He stopped, and she waited anxiously for him to continue. "What's that?" she   
asked, prompting him.  
  
"Well . . . she could laugh more at my jokes. It's like talking to a brick wall   
sometimes."  
  
"I'll be sure to tell her to take that under advisement," Scully whispered, her   
tone soft, as the weight of Mulder's words began to set in. "So, you were saying   
you're happy about work. . . ."  
  
"Mostly, yes. But I wouldn't say I was completely satisfied, either. Because for   
as much as I've learned, there's still so much more I'd like to know." Mulder   
sighed with the weariness of one who had borne the weight of the world on his   
shoulders. He bowed his head, staring at his hands clasped between his bent   
knees.  
  
Scully knew what was coming next, and she wondered if it was a mistake to have   
led him down this course of thought with her initial query.  
  
"I'd forsake it all for the answer to just one question. One piece of knowledge.   
I don't think I will ever feel fully satisfied until I find out what really   
happened to her."  
  
Her heart ached for him. For the twelve-year-old boy that still lived in Mulder,   
blaming himself for not being able to save his sister, to stop her from being   
taken. For the big brother who had spent over twenty-five years trying to   
assuage the guilt by searching for Samantha, and the explanation of what   
happened to her. As important as his quest for the Truth was--as much as the   
work meant to him--this was the real reason that Mulder had devoted his life to   
the X-Files.  
  
Scully had the sudden urge to hold him close and to try to shield him from all   
of the hurt. A year ago, she would never have dared. Tonight, she did not even   
hesitate.  
  
"One day, Mulder," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and   
resting her head on his. "One day, we'll find out what happened to her. I know   
we will. Have faith."  
  
Leaning back in her arms, he reached up to place his hands on her arm. "I do,   
Scully. Thanks to you, I do."  
  
She closed her eyes, savoring this moment. The feel of his body against hers,   
the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. Mulder had   
opened himself up to her tonight, allowing her a glimpse into his heart. The   
last time he placed such trust in her was probably the night he told her about   
Samantha a half-dozen years ago. Scully now considered tonight to be a time of   
renewing a vow between them--a pledge of hope in the work, and in each other.   
She had never felt closer to Mulder--intellectually, physically, emotionally,   
spiritually--than she did at this very moment. She wished they could remain like   
this forever.  
  
They sat this way for a long while. The fire had long since dwindled down to a   
few fading embers when Mulder gently let go of her arms, and she reluctantly   
released her hold on him. "It's getting late, Scully," he whispered. "It's been   
a long, hard day, and you're probably exhausted. I should go, and let you get to   
sleep." He started to get to his feet, but she reached up and grasped his arm.  
  
"Mulder, the storm's worse than ever. It's not worth it to try to drive in this   
weather--especially after all that wine. Why don't you spend the night?"  
  
"That's okay, Scully. I'll be fine. I don't want to impose on you any more than   
I already have."  
  
"Don't be silly, Mulder. You're just as tired as I am. Get a good night's sleep.   
It should clear up by the morning, and you can head home then."  
  
Mulder hesitated. When a yawn escaped, she knew she had him. "All right," he   
conceded.  
  
"Good. Let me go get a sheet and a blanket. . . ."  
  
"A pillow will be fine, Scully. Don't go to any trouble on my account."  
  
"No trouble," she replied, heading for the linen closet.  
  
She returned shortly with a pillow, sheet, and a spare down comforter. Together,   
they spread the sheet over the couch, followed by the blanket. Scully gathered   
the mugs and brought them into the kitchen to wash. By the time she returned,   
Mulder was just getting settled. His back to her, she quietly watched as he   
removed his dress shirt, revealing a white undershirt that clung to his lean   
frame. He tossed the dress shirt onto a nearby chair to join his already-  
discarded tie. He was in the process of removing his belt when she finally   
spoke, revealing her presence.  
  
"You sure you'll be comfortable?" she asked. "I can get another blanket--"  
  
"Scully, couches and I are old friends. I'll be fine. Go on to bed."  
  
"Okay. Good night, Mulder," she said, heading for her room.  
  
"G'night, Scully. Pleasant dreams."  
  
She stopped a moment and smiled. *Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem,   
Mulder. No problem at all.*  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Scully woke the next morning feeling well-rested, though a little congested.   
Despite the tea and honey, she guessed there was no avoiding a cold after being   
caught in that storm. A little past eight, it was still relatively early. After   
washing up, she decided to head to the kitchen and make some breakfast for them   
to eat after Mulder woke up.  
  
She was trying to decide whether to prepare French toast or pancakes when she   
spied Mulder at the dining room table. Not only was he awake, but he appeared to   
have been so for quite some time. He had her lap-top plugged in, and was   
intently staring at the screen, piles of papers strewn all around him, along   
with a half-filled mug of coffee.  
  
"'Mornin', Scully," he said, not even looking up.  
  
"Good morning. Didn't expect to see you awake yet."  
  
"There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," he said, eyes still fixed to the computer   
screen.  
  
"Thanks. Did you sleep okay?" Walking closer, she picked up one of the bundles   
of paper, and saw that it was the toxicology report from Elizabeth Blair's   
autopsy.  
  
"Just fine, thanks. You?"  
  
"Like a baby. You been at this long?"  
  
"A while, yeah."  
  
Glancing at the screen, Scully saw that he was on the internet, at the CDC's   
site. "Anything interesting?"  
  
"Just getting some background info on anthrax and biological warfare. Did you   
know that in the early seventies, one hundred eighteen countries--including Iraq   
and the USSR--signed up to abide by the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention,   
agreeing to `never in any circumstances develop, produce, stockpile, or   
otherwise acquire or retain any biological weapons'?"  
  
Scully sighed, realizing that the old self-absorbed workaholic Mulder was back   
with a vengeance. Oh well, she supposed she should be grateful he managed to   
take a break for an entire night. "Want some breakfast?" she asked, heading into   
the kitchen. "I can make some eggs, or some pancakes--"  
  
The phone rang. Wondering if it was her mom, Scully picked it up. "Hello?"  
  
"Agent Scully, this is Walter Skinner. I apologize for disturbing you so early   
on the weekend."  
  
"No, sir, that's fine. I was already up. What can I do for you?"  
  
"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Agent Scully. . . ."  
  
Mulder looked over at her. He could immediately tell that something was wrong.   
He hastened to her side and watched her expectantly as the Assistant Director   
filled her in on what had happened.  
  
". . . I already tried contacting Agent Mulder at home, but there was no answer.   
And his cell was out of service."  
  
"I know how to reach him, sir."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Yes. We'll meet you down there shortly."  
  
"Very well. I'll see you soon."  
  
As soon as she hung up the phone, Mulder began to question her. "Skinner?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Scully, you've gone white as a sheet. What's wrong?"  
  
She looked at her partner and sadly shook her head. "I think we celebrated   
nabbing Andraven too soon."  
  
"Why? What's happened?"  
  
"It's Tim Liles. They . . . They found him dead in his hotel room this morning.   
It looks like suicide."  
  
  
End Chapter 3  
  
  
***** 


	4. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 04/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 4  
  
  
"I don't believe it," Mulder muttered, even as he shook his head in disbelief.   
"The bastard is going to get off."  
  
Sitting beside him in the courtroom as they awaited the judge's ruling on   
whether Andraven would be brought to trial, Scully closed her eyes and slowly   
bowed her own head. Mulder was right; in a few short minutes, the son of a bitch   
was going to walk out of the room a free man. How had their case managed to   
deteriorate so quickly? she silently wondered.  
  
Tim Liles had seemingly hanged himself in his hotel bathroom. Lord knew, there   
was sufficient cause: for starters, guilt over his involvement in the research   
and purported testing of the genetically engineered anthrax strain he helped to   
create. And no doubt he believed that Elizabeth Blair's blood was on his hands.  
  
The crime scene had revealed no evidence of a struggle. More importantly, there   
had been an agent sitting in the next room at the time who swore that no one had   
entered or exited the hotel room in the several hours preceding the estimated   
time of death.  
  
Scully performed the autopsy on Liles herself. She found no signs of foul play.   
Even the toxicology report proved nothing conclusive. The only oddity was that   
Liles had had an elevated level of cortisol--a hormone released in response to   
stress--though the amount was still not abnormally high.  
  
Regardless of the method of his demise, the consequences were the same: without   
Tim's testimony, they had no way of directly linking Andraven to Blair's death,   
or his lab's supposed development of anthrax as a biological weapon. The PCR   
from Quantico revealed that there was a close relation among the strains that   
Liles snuck out, that which Scully found, and that which killed Blair. Coupled   
with Liles' testimony, the evidence would have been damning. Without his   
statement, however, it was reduced to being circumstantial at best.  
  
Andraven managed to twist the situation around and lay blame on Liles himself.   
His lawyer painted a picture of a bitter, desperate man who blamed his employer   
for his own lack of experimental results. Liles' grant money was running out,   
and because his research was not proceeding as planned, Andraven was going to   
pull the plug on his project. According to him, Liles did not deal well with   
failure. A number of men and women who had worked with Liles were brought in to   
corroborate the portrait of an arrogant scientist who wanted to take a fast,   
easy road to the top, and did not care who he stepped on or used along the way.  
  
According to Andraven, Liles sought retribution; he somehow managed to get a   
hold of some virulent strains of anthrax, planted them in the laboratory, and   
then contacted Scully--knowing of her work with the Bureau--in an attempt to   
implicate Andraven and have his company shut down. Whether Blair's death was   
accidental, the result of Liles' wrath after she refused to go along with his   
plan, or maybe even his way of eliminating anyone with knowledge of his crimes,   
was indeterminate, but nonetheless Liles' handiwork, Andraven claimed.   
Ultimately, the knowledge that this evidence would come to light and ruin his   
reputation must have proved too much, and Liles chose instead to end his own   
life.  
  
Opening her eyes, Scully realized that the judge was stating his decision. ". .   
. insufficient evidence directly linking Mr. Andraven to these crimes. Case   
dismissed." With a sharp bang of the gavel, it was over. The case they had built   
upon hours and hours of investigative work had fallen apart like a house of   
cards.  
  
Scully watched as Andraven got to his feet, grinning like like the cat who   
swallowed the canary, and shook his lawyer's hand. The man was a heartless   
murderer, and he had managed to weasel his way out of any culpability. Tim Liles   
was dead, as was Elizabeth Blair, and God knew how many more people would be   
murdered at his hands.  
  
Too shocked to react, she simply sat there, watching people file out of the   
courtroom. When Andraven walked by, he smiled knowingly in their direction   
before exiting.  
  
"I'm going to go wipe that grin right off of that sonuvabitch's face," Mulder   
muttered, getting to his feet.  
  
"Mulder!" Scully called, trying to stop him. But he did not hear her, or simply   
chose to ignore her, and quickly followed Andraven out of the courtroom. Fearing   
the worst, Scully hurried after her partner, but got caught in a crowd of   
people. By the time she had managed to push her way into the hallway, she saw   
that Mulder was confronting the CEO.  
  
"You're not going to get away with this," Mulder told him plainly.  
  
"Ah, but I have done nothing wrong," Andraven replied smugly.  
  
"You had Elizabeth Blair infected with a lethal strain of anthrax, and you had   
Tim Liles killed because he was willing to testify against you."  
  
"Dr. Blair's death was the result of an unfortunate accident, and it was   
determined that Dr. Liles took his own life. I am sorry to lose two such   
talented scientists, who made tremendous contributions to their field."  
  
"Yeah, you're sorry your prize researcher was no longer willing to jump through   
hoops. When Liles refused to play a part in the senseless killings of innocent   
people just so you could increase your bank account, you decided that he had   
outlived his usefulness. How many others have you murdered to further your   
pursuit of personal profit? How many more will you kill in cold-blood?" Mulder   
was in his face now, and when Andraven tried to take a step backwards, Mulder   
moved closer.  
  
His raised voice had also attracted suitable attention, and many eyes were   
turned in their direction. Some members of the media were preparing to get a   
closer look.  
  
"Mulder, c'mon, let's go," Scully said, approaching him. "There's nothing else   
to be done here."  
  
He simply ignored her, and kept pressing the businessman. "So, how much did you   
pay the judge to get you off, Petey?"  
  
Andraven flinched at the familiar form of address. That small crack in his   
otherwise impeccable facade encouraged Mulder to press him further.  
  
"Or did you simply threaten to use him and his family as your next test   
subjects?"  
  
"Bribery of a court official is a crime, punishable by imprisonment, Agent   
Mulder--as is libel. So I'd be careful what kind of accusations I made if I were   
you."  
  
"What's bribery compared to experimenting on human beings? How many more   
innocent people are you going to kill, you inhuman bastard?" Mulder snarled,   
even as he grabbed Andraven by the labels and shoved him against the wall. "What   
makes you think you're above the law?"  
  
"I suggest you get your hands off of me before I charge you with harassment,"   
Andraven replied coolly, yet loudly, obviously raising his tone for the benefit   
of the reporters that were beginning to gather.  
  
"Mulder," Scully said sharply, placing a firm hand on his arm. He looked at her   
then, and she held his gaze, her own a mixture of insistence and pleading.   
Reluctantly, he released his hold on Andraven.  
  
The older man calmly straightened his tie and coat. "If you'll excuse me, I   
think you've wasted enough of my time today," Andraven said as he turned to   
leave.  
  
Mulder was about to step after him, when Scully's grip on his arm tightened.   
Though he did not move, Mulder still called after him. "You can't hide from the   
truth, Andraven."  
  
The CEO continued his steady pace, never turning back.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Though Mulder had gotten a hold of himself and yielded to discretion during his   
confrontation with Andraven, he did not want to let it rest. He threw himself   
into his work, trying to find some lead that would enable them to implicate   
Andraven. He went too far, however, persistently harassing Andraven at his   
office with a barrage of questions and unsubstantiated accusations. Though   
Scully did what she could to assist Mulder--all the while trying to rein him in   
a bit--she knew that she could not stop him. It became a matter of simply   
waiting for the ball to drop. As it turned out, it did not take long before they   
got the call.  
  
Skinner summoned them into his office and told them in no uncertain terms to   
back off. Mulder tried to protest, insisting that they were very close to   
finding a vital piece of evidence that would make the charges stick, but the   
A.D. firmly stood his ground--going so far as to threaten Mulder with a   
suspension should he so much as go near Andraven or his laboratory.  
  
Reluctantly, Mulder agreed to drop the case. Scully immediately felt that he   
acquiesced much too easily. Her instincts proved to be be right: The moment they   
left Skinner's office and entered the elevator, Mulder had began to voice his   
resentment--loudly.  
  
"Damn it!" he had shouted, hitting the button for the basement with his fist.   
"We lost him! That son of a bitch is gonna get away with it! He had at least two   
people killed, and God knows how many more innocent people are going to die by   
his hands!" Mulder paced the small elevator car furiously. "It's bad enough that   
he got off scott free at the indictment, but now it seems that Andraven's   
governmental connections go farther than the judicial branch."  
  
Mulder may be on the paranoid side, but Scully was also convinced that Andraven   
pulled some strings and caused the higher powers to put pressure further down   
the chain of command--at least as far as the Assistant Director, as the meeting   
they had just left no doubt illustrated. Skinner sure as hell hated to be placed   
between a rock and a hard place, and so he had come down on them--hard. They had   
come up against a brick wall--as they had so many times before. They had no   
choice now but to move on. And so Scully had decided to do what she could to   
convince her partner to let this go.  
  
"You know, this is probably all for the best. Andraven knew we were on to him,   
so he had to be operating with extreme caution. There's no way we'd be able to   
find anything substantial to use against him anyway."  
  
"We had him, Scully. We should have been able to put him away for life. And he   
just slipped through our fingers."  
  
"Mulder, you should be thankful you still have a job. After that scene you   
pulled at the indictment--"  
  
"He was laughing at us. And I'm sick and tired of being played like a fool." The   
elevator doors opened, and Mulder quickly exited, striding down the hallway at   
full tilt.  
  
Scully had to practically sprint to keep up with him. "I don't want to play   
their games any more than you do, Mulder, but the fact remains that you were out   
of line. You let your emotions get the better of you at the hearing."  
  
"Well, at least one of us cares enough to pursue the case," he muttered,   
stopping in front of the office and pulling out his keys.  
  
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Scully snapped, crossing her arms and   
walking up to him to look him in the eyes. "I've been working just as hard as   
you on this investigation, Mulder. Just because I didn't try to assault Andraven   
doesn't mean I don't care."  
  
"Could have fooled me," he retorted, opening the door and walking into the   
office. "Hell, Scully, *you* were the one who brought me in on this in the first   
place. It was *your* friend who was murdered. Don't you give a damn?"  
  
"Of course I do! I'm just not willing to sacrifice over six years of hard work   
to satisfy a personal vendetta!" she replied, following him inside and slamming   
the door behind her. "I want Andraven to rot in jail as much as you do, Mulder.   
I want justice for all the lives he's sacrificed."  
  
"Then why are you caving in?"  
  
"Who says I'm giving up?" she shot back, trying not to show how much his harsh   
words hurt her. "Just because we're no longer pursuing the case via official   
channels doesn't mean we have to let it drop entirely," she continued, her voice   
softening as she approached him. "Let's just bide our time for a while, step   
back and make Andraven think the pressure's off. He's bound to slip up again   
eventually." She paused a moment, and lightly touched his arm, cocking her head   
to gaze at his face. "Be patient, Mulder. We'll get another chance."  
  
With a weary sigh, Mulder nodded his head. She could see his expression calming   
as her words reassured him that she was still with him on this one. "All right,   
Scully. I'll let it go. For now."  
  
Though they had since begun a new investigation, Mulder had remained in a major   
funk. He had been moody all week, brooding much more than was usual for him.   
Despite the long hours they had been putting in, they had made little progress   
on their next case. Scully could not help but wonder if this was partially due   
to the fact that his heart was just not in it. It was as though his enthusiasm   
vanished when they were pulled from the Andraven case.  
  
No matter how much she tried to cheer him up--even going so far as to supply her   
own banter to try to lighten the mood--he had still been gloomy. This Mulder was   
the complete opposite of the one of a week earlier, who was practically bubbling   
with excitement as each piece of evidence fell into place to build their case.  
  
More than that, his melancholy had put a distance between them. Whereas last   
week each day they seemed to draw closer, now they seemed only to drift further   
apart. Scully desperately missed that special connection they had made. So much   
so, in fact, that she spent a great deal of the time she should have been   
working on the new case instead thinking about her partner.  
  
Earlier that afternoon, Mulder was doing something on the computer while Scully   
was pouring over her autopsy reports. At least, that what she was trying to do.   
Instead, she had spent most of her time gazing in her partner's direction,   
musing over their relationship.  
  
*Does he even realize the effect he has on me?* she wondered with a sigh as she   
cupped her chin in her hand. They connected so well in the context of work, but   
he seemed to have no clue about her feelings for him. That was not entirely his   
fault, she supposed. Of the two of them, it was he who was both more emotional   
and more physical. And she had always felt the need to put some distance between   
them. Scully was the one who tried the most to maintain the degree of   
professionalism she felt was needed in order for them to function efficiently in   
a work environment. Her career was important to her, and Mulder's work was his   
life--he once put it in so many words. And though his quest had become her own,   
a part of her feared that if they were ever to become involved the work would   
not get the attention it deserved. One day, Mulder would regret allowing   
something else to take precedence over the X-Files, and she would never be able   
to forgive herself.  
  
Scully also had the need to stand on her own two feet. Getting where she was   
today--surviving medical school, becoming a special agent--was not easy.   
Especially infiltrating the boy's club that was the Federal Bureau of   
Investigations. Many of these men had the idea that because she was a woman, she   
was too emotional or too fragile to handle the job. She had to push herself   
twice as hard as any man in order to prove that she was just as capable. In the   
process, she had learned to rely on herself, and no other. For this reason, she   
wanted--she *needed*--to appear strong to those around her. She prided herself   
on her intellectual accomplishments. She did not like to show fear when on a   
case, and she hated to cry in public, because it indicated weakness. She did not   
want others to think that she was not strong enough to handle any situation her   
work put her in. She wanted them to see her as a competent scientist, a skilled   
investigator.  
  
Scully blew out the breath she did not realize she had been holding. Perhaps   
that was part of the problem. Perhaps one of the reasons Mulder and she had   
remained partners, friends, and nothing more was that she had only allowed him   
to see one side of her. Mulder knew Agent Scully, his skeptical partner. He had   
worked with the enigmatic Dr. Scully, pathologist. But did he really know Dana   
Scully, the woman? Had she allowed him to see that aspect of her personality?   
More importantly, if she did show it to him, how would he react? Would he like   
her? Would he want to get to know her better?  
  
With a sigh, she made her decision. *Perhaps it's time I tried to find out. . .   
.* And so, with fond memories of an evening spent waiting out a storm in front   
of a fireplace, she decided to take a chance--in hopes of cheering him up, and,   
if she were lucky, rekindling some of the closeness they had been feeling a mere   
week earlier.  
  
Summoning up her courage, and at the same time preparing herself for a possible   
disappointment, she suggested they finally check out Tufano's. They both needed   
a night to unwind, forget about work for a while and just enjoy some delicious   
food, relaxing atmosphere, and good company. Remarkably, Mulder took little   
convincing, and actually seemed to appreciate the idea. She guessed he felt he   
needed the break, too.  
  
Feeling almost giddy with excitement, she called to make reservations; they had   
just had a cancellation, in fact, and were able to fit them in that night. Since   
she needed to go home to change--and Mulder wanted to put in a little extra time   
going through some reports--they decided to meet at the restaurant. Much to her   
surprise--not to mention great pleasure--as she was getting ready to leave, the   
Mulder of a week earlier made an unexpected reappearance.  
  
"Okay, Mulder, I'll see you in a little while," Scully said, opening the office   
door. His eyes were focused on the computer screen as he hunted and pecked at   
the keyboard, apparently oblivious to all around him. Shaking her head, she   
sighed. "Don't work too hard. And don't forget, we're meeting at--"  
  
"Seven o'clock, at Tufano's, which is two blocks off of Northern Boulevard.   
Don't worry, Scully, I'll be there," he said, looking up at her, his face lit   
with a bright smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."  
  
"Yeah, you'd do anything for all-you-can-eat garlic bread and homemade canoles,   
huh, Mulder?"  
  
"You know what they say about the way to a man's heart, Scully. . . ."  
  
"Yeah, and what a schleroid heart it must be."  
  
"See you at seven," he said with a grin, returning his attention to the   
computer.  
  
"See you then," she replied, leaving the office and closing the door behind her.   
She could not help but smile as she made her way to the parking garage.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Glancing at her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, Scully sighed.   
*Relax, Dana. He's just a little late,* she told herself as she reached for her   
drink and took a sip. *He said he was running late. He probably hit traffic on   
the way over. He'll be here. Just give him a few more minutes.*  
  
She looked around the restaurant, taking in the cozy atmosphere. Tufano's was   
even better than she expected. There were only about fifteen tables, each   
decorated with fresh flowers and softly burning candles. The majority of these   
were occupied, primarily with couples. The soft buzz of pleasant conversations   
filled the air, accompanied by the gentle melody of a violinist, making his way   
around the room to serenade each of the tables in turn.  
  
Her eyes slowly scanned the room, coming to rest at the next table. A young man   
and woman sat staring into one another's eyes, sipping champagne. Their hands   
were clasped on the table. The man said something, and the woman's smile turned   
to gentle laughter. He slowly reached across the table, and they kissed. Scully   
quickly averted her eyes, focusing instead on the small flame of the candle in   
the center of her table, watching it burn steadily, the lavender wax pooling   
below the wick. She could not help but envy these people.  
  
"Can I get you anything, ma'am?" the waiter asked, stopping at her table.  
  
"Uhm . . . How about another martini?" she replied, glancing at her watch. "My   
friend should be here any minute; I'd like to wait to order until he gets here."  
  
"Very well. I'll be right back with your drink."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
As he left, Scully was suddenly conscious of being the only person in the   
restaurant sitting alone. She absently smoothed her skirt, fighting the urge to   
make a break for the door.  
  
*What were you thinking, Dana?*  
  
It seemed simple enough at the time: she had wanted to try to get them back on   
track, to return them to that wonderful state of happiness Mulder and she had   
been in while working on the Andraven case--and perhaps take it a step further.  
  
One moment they were on cloud nine, feeling tremendously happy with the case,   
the work, each other. That night of the thunder storm, she had felt the closest   
to Mulder she ever had. But the next morning, things got turned on their head   
when they learned of Tim Liles' death--apparent suicide, though they were   
convinced it was murder, most likely ordered by Andraven himself. If only there   
had been some way to prove it, some means of demonstrating the CEO's   
involvement--  
  
"Hi, Scully. I'm sorry I'm so late."  
  
The sound of his voice snapped her out of her recollections. She looked up to   
see Mulder approaching the table, and her breath caught in her throat.   
Apparently, he did not spend all this time on the reports, and also decided to   
stop home to change. He was wearing a dark suit with one of those preacher-  
collar shirts--a deep emerald that brought out the green of his eyes. She got up   
to greet him and he took her hands in his own, pulling her close to place a soft   
kiss on her cheek. "You look beautiful," he said as they sat down.  
  
"Thank you," she replied, smiling demurely as a soft flush crept across her   
cheeks. "You're looking good yourself."  
  
"Must be the soft lighting," he quipped. "Did you order yet?"  
  
"No, not yet. I wanted to wait for you."  
  
"Thanks. I would have been here sooner, but traffic was terrible on the   
highway."  
  
"That's no problem. I'm just glad you're here now."  
  
"Me, too." He placed his hand on hers, softly caressing it with his thumb. The   
sensation was electric, sending tiny shocks up her arm. "I'm glad you invited me   
here, Scully," he said, his voice low and earthy. She gazed across the table,   
and saw his eyes focused on her face. "I've wanted to do this for a long time,   
but, frankly, I've never gotten the nerve to ask you before. Guess you finally   
beat me to it."  
  
She was surprised at the way in which his words encouraged her. It seemed that   
work was not the only time that they were able to play off of one another's   
ideas and actions. "It doesn't matter who initiated it, Mulder, so long as we're   
here now, together."  
  
"I couldn't have said it better myself." He leaned toward her then, and her   
heart skipped a beat. She found herself moving closer to him without the   
slightest hesitation. Feeling the warmth of his breath even as the spicy scent   
of his aftershave filled her senses, she closed her eyes, preparing for the   
eagerly-anticipated touch of his lips on hers.  
  
"Here's your drink, ma'am."  
  
At the sound of the waiter's voice, Scully's eyes snapped open. As he placed the   
glass before her, she looked across the table and saw that she was alone.   
Blinking, she tried to clear her head. Then, as realization dawned, her cheeks   
grew warm with embarrassment. She was not usually one for indulging in   
fantasies--at least, not in public places.  
  
"Th-thank you," she stuttered, averting her gaze from the waiter.  
  
"Would you like to order an appetizer while you wait, ma'am?" he asked.  
  
"Uhm . . . I suppose I could . . ." she replied softly, reaching for the menu   
and holding it up to shield her crimson face. "Uh, could you give me a few   
minutes, please?"  
  
"Of course. Take your time." He took his leave.  
  
With a sigh, she silently shook her head. *Lord, Dana, you really are eager   
tonight, aren't you?* She glanced once more at her watch, and saw that it was   
well past seven-thirty. She felt the first inkling of anger adding to her   
embarrassment. *All right, Mulder, so where the hell are you?*  
  
  
End Chapter 4  
  
  
***** 


	5. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 05/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
  
I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine  
Lend me some fresh air  
I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you  
  
  
  
"Look at that," said Scully, pointing to the computer screen.  
  
She stiffened suddenly as she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck and the   
gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder. She sighed softly at the unaccustomed   
contact, but said nothing.  
  
"Interesting," he said, moving closer so that he could get a better look at the   
technical readout. As he moved his face closer to the screen to make out the   
numbers, his hand slowly slid downward, to the small of her back.  
  
An involuntary shiver ran up her spine.  
  
"But I wonder why these peaks keep on descending," he remarked, tracing the   
readout on the screen with the fingers of one hand even as those of his other   
traced their own downward path.  
  
As Scully realized that his hand was not stopping at her lower back, the shiver   
of a moment earlier transformed into a sensation of disgust that made her skin   
crawl. An instant before his fingers were about to squeeze her soft, round flesh   
through her skirt, she spun around and grabbed his arm, pinning it behind his   
back as she shoved him against the wall--hard. He grunted as she twisted his arm   
in the socket and jammed his wrist into his back.  
  
"Scully! What the hell are you doing?" he gasped.  
  
"If you ever so much as touch me again, you sonuva--"  
  
At that moment, two other men walked into the room. Seeing the petite redhead   
restraining her would-be paramour, they immediately began to laugh.  
  
"Geez, Frohike, can't we leave you unsupervised for more than two minutes?"   
Langly asked, eyes twinkling behind his black-rimmed glasses.  
  
"What did he do this time, Scully?" Byers asked. In utter contrast to the   
dignified facade and impeccable manner presented by his conservative suit and   
neatly-trimmed beard, a snortling chuckle of amusement escaped his lips.  
  
"Your colleague here decided to let his fingers do some walking," Scully replied   
through clenched teeth, her grip on Frohike's arm not yielding.  
  
"Hey, it was just friendly little--yow!" he cried out as she twisted his arm   
further. "Hey, that's my bowling arm."  
  
"You've never bowled in your life, Frohike."  
  
"You're not helping here, Byers."  
  
"What, the minute Mulder's not around, you decide she's yours for the taking?"   
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Langly realized he never should have   
uttered them. Especially any mention of her absent partner's name.  
  
Scully glared at the blonde man, eyes narrowing in contempt.  
  
His blood turned cold, and he had to fight the instinct to place his hands over   
his groin in protection.  
  
"Nobody owns me," she spat, "and I do *not* need Mulder's protection."  
  
Swallowing, Langly vigorously nodded his head in agreement.  
  
"Frohike, promise her you'll behave so we can get down to business, will you?"   
Byers asked, walking over to the computer.  
  
"I promise, I promise. Uncle! Uncle!" the older man yelped.  
  
"All right," Scully said, releasing him. "But just remember, Frohike, next time   
you try anything it's not your *arm* I'm going after."  
  
"Yes, Ma'am, Dr. Scully, ma'am," he muttered, rubbing his sore shoulder.  
  
All right, so maybe he went a little too far this time. When Scully came to   
them, she was obviously upset, and he had just wanted to offer her a little   
comfort. Could he help it if his hand had a mind of its own? Sure, he was a   
dirty old man--he was the first to admit it--but he was completely harmless, and   
Scully knew that. She had never really seemed to mind his flirting before. She   
would roll her eyes or sigh and pretend she never heard the comment. But this   
morning, she reacted like he was some perp who tried to attack her. She was   
definitely upset--and Scully usually concealed such emotion behind a cool   
demeanor. Only one person he knew of could get under her skin that way.  
  
As a more literal interpretation of the expression conjured all sorts of   
lascivious pictures in his mind, a grin curled his lips. He immediately wiped it   
from his face for fear that she would notice it and take another go at him. He   
took his seat at the computer console and managed a surreptitious glance in her   
direction. Though she no longer seemed ready to tear him limb from limb, she was   
still noticeably distressed: Her brow was creased and her mouth was cast in an   
angry scowl.  
  
*Yep, she's definitely worried about you, Mulder. And if she was ready to make   
me a eunuch for a friendly little pat, I'd hate to see what she does to you for   
ditching her when she gets her hands on you, buddy.*  
  
"Okay, so here's what we found regarding voice patterns from that audio tape you   
gave us," Frohike said, keying up a new image on the computer screen.  
  
As Frohike and Langly began to explain the significance of the readout, Byers   
split his attention between listening to their words and watching Scully. She   
stood staring at the screen, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He could tell,   
however, that her mind was not completely on the case at hand. One did not have   
to be Einstein to figure out what--or rather, whom--occupied her thoughts at the   
moment.  
  
"Can I get a print out of this?" Scully asked when they had finished their   
report.  
  
"Sure," Frohike replied, tapping away at the keyboard. "I'll have to send it to   
the laser printer in the other room, since this one's on the fritz."  
  
"Oh, I disconnected it yesterday morning when I was fixing it," Langly said.  
  
"Well, then, let's go see about reconnecting it," Frohike said, getting up.   
"C'mon, dude, you can give me a hand. We'll be right back with your print out,   
Scully. Byers, keep the good doctor entertained, okay?" he said as he and Langly   
left the room.  
  
Scully silently walked across the room, stopping in front of the far wall to   
stare at framed copies of _The Lone Gunman_ front pages. Wrapping her arms   
around herself, she sighed.  
  
"Agent Scully," Byers began cautiously, walking closer to her, "I know this is   
none of my business, but if you'd like to talk about it. . . ."  
  
Byers had been the one to call Mulder at work early that morning to tell him   
that the evidence he and the other Gunmen had been analyzing had produced some   
interesting results. Scully had picked up the office phone, sounding much more   
frigid than normal. He told her that they had something she and Mulder would   
probably want to check out.  
  
"Well, *I'd* be happy to stop by and take a look," Scully had remarked. The   
indignation in her voice had been unmistakable.  
  
Byers had paused then, trying to decide what to make of her statement. "Is   
Mulder not in yet?" he asked in a benign tone.  
  
The line went suddenly quiet.  
  
"Agent Scully? You still there?"  
  
"Yes. I'm sorry, Byers." Another pause. "No, Mulder's not here."  
  
"Oh." Byers hesitated. Luckily, Scully spoke again, ending the awkward silence.  
  
"I- I'll be right over," she had finished hastily before disconnecting. She was   
true to her word, and a short while later, she had arrived. While Byers and   
Langly took care of some other unfinished business, Frohike had begun to brief   
her on their findings.  
  
"There's not much to talk about," Scully said now, her gaze still fixed on the   
frames.  
  
Byers paused, deciding whether to put himself out on a limb and pose the   
inevitable question. "Did something happen between you and Mulder?" he asked   
finally.  
  
"Nothing happened between us," she replied. When she continued, her voice was   
little more than a whisper. "And that's just the problem."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't follow."  
  
"Join the club," she remarked, her tone caustic.  
  
Realizing there was definite trouble brewing, Byers decided to push her a little   
to get to the bottom of the situation. Perhaps he could act as moderator and   
patch things up between the estranged partners. "When was the last time you   
spoke to him?"  
  
"I haven't seen him since yesterday evening, when I left the office."  
  
"Think he might just be sleeping in?"  
  
"No." Scully cleared her throat before continuing. "He evidently decided to go   
off on his own to do a little private investigating, but neglected to tell me   
about it." Her statement was laced with an anger Byers had never heard in her   
voice before. He kept silent, though, allowing her to continue.  
  
"We were supposed to meet last night, but Mulder never showed." She paused, and   
Byers could tell that there was more to the story than she was letting on. This   
was more than a mere misunderstanding or a fight; something deeper had occurred.   
"I tried calling him," she resumed, "but his machine was on, his cell was out of   
service, and there was no answer at the office. At the time, I figured maybe he   
got wrapped up in some work, and lost track of the time."  
  
"But now . . . ?"  
  
"But when I came into the office this morning, I saw that Mulder left his desk   
in a state of disarray." She heard Byers chuckle. "As I'm sure you're aware, in   
and of itself, that isn't unusual for Mulder. But aside from reports strewn   
across his desk, his computer was still on--with an open file on the screen. I   
checked the time it was last saved. It was at 6:03 P.M., about an hour after I   
left. The thing is, Mulder never leaves without shutting his computer down.   
That, and there were several lights on. I also noticed some blank sheets of   
scrap paper scattered near the phone, along with an open pen."  
  
"Sounds like he might have been jotting down a message. Did you try the ole   
pencil trick?"  
  
"I didn't bother; there were no writing imprints left on the other sheets. I   
just got the overall impression that he left the office suddenly, as though in a   
hurry."  
  
"Did he leave you a note?"  
  
"None that I could find. Have you guys heard from him recently?"  
  
"No. We were all here last night, working on that cassette tape Mulder gave us.   
We haven't spoken to him since he dropped it off day-before-yesterday. You don't   
have any idea where he might be?"  
  
"*Where*, no. *Why*, I think I have a pretty good idea."  
  
"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the answer?"  
  
She sighed. "I'm sure he's told you about the Andraven case. . . ."  
  
Byers made a derisive sound. "He's griped to all three of us, collectively and   
separately, about that guy getting off. Not that I blame him, mind you. Last I   
heard, though, you two were told to back off by your boss."  
  
"That's right: A.D. Skinner pulled us off the case, and forbid Mulder or me from   
going anywhere near Andraven or from investigating him in any official   
capacity."  
  
"But you think Mulder may have decided to take matters into his own hands, and   
continued with the case anyway?"  
  
"Yes. Typical Mulder to throw caution--and regulations--to the wind in order to   
pursue a lead."  
  
Byers nodded. "I don't think the danger aspect even occurs to him--especially   
when he's got a partner whom he knows will be there to bail him out of trouble."  
  
"That's just it, Byers. I'm sick and tired of playing cavalry. I'm his partner,   
not Damage Control. He should know better by now than to pull a crazy stunt like   
this. Especially given how adamant he knows Skinner was about us staying away   
from Andraven. If this backfires, and he doesn't get any irrefutably damning   
evidence, then I don't think anything I say or do can help him. I don't think   
even Skinner would be able to protect Mulder from this."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"Andraven has some connections in the Bureau, if not the entire government. He'd   
have Mulder's badge in a heartbeat. And, quite frankly, Mulder'd be getting off   
easy if that was the only disciplinary action that's taken against him."  
  
Byers could sense the anger and worry in her voice, but did not know what to say   
or do to alleviate it. "Well, how about as soon as the boys get back, we do a   
little snooping to see if we can try and locate Mulder?"  
  
"Byers, I really appreciate your concern, but right now I'm not so sure that   
this is the best--"  
  
At the sound of her cell-phone ringing, Scully let the sentence go unfinished.   
Fishing the phone from her pocket, she answered it. "Scully."  
  
"You'll never guess what this pinhead did to the printer," Frohike muttered as   
he returned to the room, cable in hand, with Langly hot on his trail.  
  
"I'm telling you, Frohike, all it needs is a new toner cartridge and it'll work   
fine." Langly paused as he caught sight of Scully. Scowling, her face had gone a   
shade lighter. "What's with her?" he asked of Byers.  
  
"I don't know. She just got a call."  
  
"Hope it's not bad news," Frohike remarked.  
  
The trio silently waited for the female agent to finish her conversation.  
  
"Very well. . . . I'm on my way now." She disconnected, returning her phone to   
her pocket. "I'm afraid this print out will have to wait, fellas," she told   
them, hastily retrieving her coat.  
  
"Something wrong?" Byers asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," she replied, donning her coat. "All I know is that A.D. Skinner   
wants to see me in his office immediately." She quickly headed for the door.   
"Thanks for the help, guys. I'll be in touch."  
  
  
End Chapter 5  
  
  
***** 


	6. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 06/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 6  
  
  
I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours  
I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey  
Hidden in the bottom drawer  
  
  
  
Scully made her way down the hallway toward the Assistant Director's office at a   
brisk pace, her heart and mind full of dread. Something was wrong. There was no   
doubt in her mind that it had to do with Mulder. Her stomach had become one   
enormous knot on the drive over as all of the possibilities played through her   
mind.  
  
*Why does Skinner want to speak to me in person? Why can't he tell me over the   
phone? Is the news that bad? Have they located Mulder? Did he expect--want--me   
to chase after him? Damn it, this is why I insist he doesn't go off on his own.   
He knows what kind of trouble he can get into when I'm not there to cover his   
ass. And now something's happened to him. Again. Is he lying in a hospital   
somewhere, unconscious, hurt? I've got to get to him, to help him, before it's   
too la--  
  
*Stop it, Dana,* she mentally chided herself. *You've got to stop thinking like   
this. You don't even know for sure that Mulder is the reason Skinner's calling   
you in here.* The idea almost brought a smile to her lips. *All right, in all   
likelihood he _is_ the reason. But, still, you have to remain in control. Don't   
overreact before you have all the facts. If you let these thoughts take over,   
then you'll be of no use to Mulder--or yourself.*  
  
With newfound resolve, Scully held her chin high as she calmly approached the   
desk of Skinner's administrative assistant.  
  
The generally chipper woman had a somber expression on her face. "Good morning,   
Agent Scully," she said, her greeting pleasant, though not accompanied with her   
usually warm smile. "The Assistant Director is waiting for you. Please go right   
in."  
  
*Oh, God, something's wrong. He's badly injured--or worse.* Panic threatening to   
overwhelm her, Scully suddenly had the urge to grab this woman by the collar and   
shake her to demand what she knew regarding her partner's whereabouts. But she   
fought to maintain her composure--a battle that was relatively easily won,   
resulting in her putting on her usual calm facade. "Thank you," she replied   
coolly, nodding her head in thanks. Walking confidently toward Skinner's office,   
Scully rapped loudly on his door.  
  
"Come in," she heard him call out.  
  
Grasping the doorknob in her hand, Scully stopped a moment. She took a deep   
breath to center herself before opening the door. Walking inside the spacious   
office, she saw Skinner sitting behind his desk, his attention focused on some   
papers in front of him. She approached his desk and waited quietly, hands   
clasped in front of her, as he finished reading the typed page before him.   
Scribbling his signature, he capped his pen and placed it down on his desk. When   
she was finally greeted by the unsmiling face of the Assistant Director, Scully   
suddenly felt like a little girl standing before her father, awaiting a   
reprimand for her latest misdeed.  
  
"Please sit down, Agent Scully," Skinner said, indicating one of the two chairs   
before his desk.  
  
As she seated herself, Scully could not resist the urge to glance over at the   
empty chair to her right, the absence of her partner almost palpable.  
  
Skinner sat with his hands clasped over the file on his desk, staring at her for   
several long moments, regarding her. An enormous scowl adorned his face. Scully   
felt his eyes boring into her, and she desired nothing more at that moment than   
to disappear.  
  
She was again reminded of her childhood, of trying to sink into the huge leather   
chair Ahab always sat her in before announcing her punishment as he silently   
paced his study. He had wanted to try to let the enormity of her actions sink in   
before he lectured her. At least Skinner was sitting down. Although with the   
glare he was giving her, shewas not sure which tactic was worse.  
  
Well, it was not as though she had anything to hide. She had done nothing wrong.   
With newfound certitude, Scully crossed her legs and sat up straight in her   
chair.  
  
"Where is Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked plainly.  
  
So much for beating around the bush. "He hasn't arrived at work yet."  
  
"I realize that. Are you expecting him?"  
  
"Well, sir, it *is* a work day, and we *are* in the middle of a case."  
  
The frown on Skinner's face deepened, and when he spoke again, he made no   
attempt to hide the ire in his voice. "Do you know where he is?"  
  
Scully glanced at her watch. "I assume either at home, or en route."  
  
"When was the last time you saw or spoke with Agent Mulder?"  
  
"Last night, around five, when I left the office. Sir, if I may be so bold, why   
are you asking me all these questions about Agent Mulder?"  
  
Skinner took a deep breath as he sat back in his chair. "I'm afraid Agent Mulder   
is in a bit of trouble."  
  
"What kind of trouble?"  
  
"You probably haven't heard yet, since it hasn't been released to the press, but   
Peter Andraven was found dead in his office early this morning. The local police   
have ruled it murder."  
  
Scully's eyes widened, but she quickly reined in her shock. "What does this have   
to do with Mulder?"  
  
Skinner sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose--a sure   
fire sign that he was not a happy camper. "The police have in custody a video   
tape from a surveillance camera that places Agent Mulder at the murder scene--  
apparently engaged in quite a heated argument with Andraven."  
  
Scully shook her head in disbelief.  
  
"Oh, it gets better," Skinner continued, replacing his glasses. "The murder   
weapon was a sig sauer. Ballistics isn't back yet, but there is a very good   
chance that it was Agent Mulder's gun."  
  
Her eyes slowly slid closed.  
  
"The police have a warrant for his arrest. When the detectives could not locate   
Agent Mulder at home or in the office, they came to me. They naturally wanted to   
speak to his partner, figuring you would have the best chance of knowing where   
he might be. Actually, they wanted to bring you in for questioning as well, but   
I insisted that I speak to you instead."  
  
"May I ask why you went to such trouble on my behalf, sir?"  
  
"As employees of the Justice Department, we have a responsibility to this   
country to uphold the law. That does not mean, however, that we are above it.   
And the Bureau generally takes care of its own. My agents are my responsibility,   
and I do not appreciate local law enforcement telling me otherwise. Without just   
cause, I see no need for you to be subject to their interrogations."  
  
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your intervention."  
  
"Well, don't be so quick to thank me. Just because I saved you the trouble of   
being hauled down to a Virginia precinct doesn't mean that I'm letting you off   
the hook before I know what the hell is going on." His rage growing, Skinner   
stood and began to walk the floor behind his desk. "Agent Scully, where were you   
last night between the hours of eight and ten P.M.?"  
  
She looked at his face. "I- I was at a restaurant in Maryland--Tufano's--from   
about seven until well after nine."  
  
"Are there witnesses that can verify your story? Someone with you?"  
  
"I was alone, but the maitre `d and waiter will probably remember me," she   
replied. *How the hell could they not notice the poor loser waiting hours alone   
at a table, only to be stood up by her date?*  
  
"Tufano's, you said? That little Italian place off of Northern?"  
  
Even the A.D. had heard of it? Scully felt the color rising in her cheeks. "Yes,   
sir."  
  
If Skinner noticed her flush, he made no indication. "I'd say that's well over   
an hour-and-a-half's drive from Andraven's lab."  
  
"Yes. But why are you asking me--?" She stopped abruptly. "I'm a suspect as well,   
aren't I?"  
  
"Given your relationship to Agent Mulder--the fact that you two have worked   
closely together for the past six years, and that you both were deeply involved   
in the Andraven investigation--they no doubt want to peg you either as an   
accomplice or an accessory. But while all of the evidence seems to point to   
Agent Mulder, there is nothing tying you to the crime.  
  
"I've overseen both you and Agent Mulder for several years now. While there have   
been times when your methods have been a little . . . unconventional . . . you   
two have done your jobs, and done them well. You are both highly skilled   
investigators that I am proud to have working for me. So, with the exception of   
a few certain indiscretions--" Scully realized immediately that he was referring   
particularly to Mulder's outburst at the courthouse-- "I have been quite   
satisfied with your work."  
  
"Th-thank you, sir. Agent Mulder and I have likewise appreciated all of the   
support and assistance you have provided us over the years."  
  
"Scully, I know that the Andraven case really got to Mulder," Skinner said, his   
tone lessening a degree in severity as he came around to the front of his desk   
and leaned against it. "I know that he has a penchant for becoming emotionally   
involved in certain cases, and that sometimes he gets reckless. Usually, though,   
you seem able to keep him in line. Now, I'm not trying to lay blame here. I just   
want to ask you--off the record--in your professional opinion, do you think that   
being pulled off of this case proved too much for him?"  
  
"I'd like to think that I know Agent Mulder as well as I know myself, sir. And   
while he was no doubt upset at having to back off of the Andraven case, I did   
not judge him to be at the point of obsession. He was able to get past it, and   
to focus on our current investigation."  
  
"So, you do not believe him to be involved in Andraven's murder?"  
  
She did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. "No," she replied, looking   
him straight in the eye. "Absolutely not. I do not think Agent Mulder capable of   
killing Andraven. As much as he wanted to see Andraven punished for his crimes,   
he did not believe in taking matters into his own hands. Rather, I think he was   
framed."  
  
"I hope you honestly believe those words, Scully, and that you're not just   
giving me lip service."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I know, probably better than anyone, much of what you and Mulder have been   
through since being partnered together. I know the losses you have both incurred   
while working for the X-Files. And I know that it has brought you both closer   
together--as partners, and as friends. As much as you care about him, though, it   
is not in either of your best interests for you to protect him."  
  
"Sir, I swear to you that until I came into your office this morning, I knew   
nothing of this crime. Nor do I know where Agent Mulder is right now."  
  
Skinner nodded, his belief in her sentiments apparent. "There is no doubt in my   
mind that from here on out the police will have you under constant surveillance.   
Therefore, I suggest that if he contacts you, you appraise him of the situation   
and propose that he turn himself in. I hope I don't have to remind you that if   
you try to warn him, or cover for him, that you can be charged with aiding and   
abetting.  
  
"I'll be honest with you, Scully: the evidence against Mulder is pretty damning.   
Right now, they have nothing concrete to link you to the crime. I may have been   
able to forestall your being questioned, but if you try to protect Mulder, then   
I will not be able to intervene. You've got a bright future in the Bureau,   
Scully. I'd hate to see you lose your badge or go to jail for a transgression of   
which I honestly believe you had no knowledge."  
  
"While I appreciate your vote of confidence, sir, I would hope that your support   
applies to Agent Mulder as well. As I've said, I don't believe he did it. It is,   
in all likelihood, a set up. I'd like to try to prove Agent Mulder's innocence.   
If I can have your permission to perform the autopsy on Andraven's body, then   
I--"  
  
"Absolutely not. You are not to look at the body, nor are you to become involved   
in the investigation of his murder."  
  
"With all due respect, sir, you can't honestly expect me to just sit back and do   
nothing while my partner is being wrongfully accused of murder."  
  
"That's exactly what I expect you to do, Agent Scully."  
  
"But, sir--"  
  
"No buts, Scully. Look, I understand that you want to help Mulder. But if you   
take part in the investigation, you will hurt not only Mulder but also yourself.   
You know as well as I do that Liles' death was no suicide, and that Andraven may   
have ordered him killed to safeguard himself and his company. He's in all   
likelihood being protected--from high places. Now, I don't know who killed him,   
but it's obviously someone who wants to get your partner out of the way in the   
process. If you get involved in this case, then you'll only be putting another   
nail in Mulder's coffin. They'll be watching you, and could go as far as   
accusing you of tampering with evidence."  
  
"But, if, as you suggest, Andraven knew someone on the inside, then his killer   
could as well. Who's to say they aren't controlling the police to doctor the   
evidence themselves in order to frame Mulder?"  
  
"I don't plan to allow the local cops to work this alone. I will put some of my   
best men and women on this case, Scully. But *you* are to steer clear of this   
investigation."  
  
"But, sir, he's my *partner*."  
  
"I know that in the past you've gone to great lengths, putting yourself on the   
line to protect him. But if you hear from Mulder--if you learn of his location--  
do not go chasing after him. I want you to notify me immediately. I do not want   
you to inadvertently implicate yourself. This is no small matter, Scully. This   
isn't merely about your reputation. If they manage to involve you in this murder   
charge, then we're talking about your badge, your career, not to mention your   
freedom. Are you prepared to go to jail for this? You might think this is a   
noble cause, but I don't think it's worth throwing your life away. While I do   
believe that both you and Mulder are innocent of any wrongdoing, I only have so   
much influence in the Bureau. There is only so far I can go to protect you. Do I   
make myself clear?"  
  
"Crystal, sir."  
  
"Good." Skinner got up and walked back to his desk, where he reseated himself.   
"In the meantime, I expect a progress report on your current case by the end of   
the week." He picked up his pen and began to scan the form in front of him.   
"That's all."  
  
Without another word, Scully rose and headed for the door.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Scully stomped into the office, slamming the door behind her. *Damn you, Mulder!   
Damn you for putting me into this position in the first place!* She began to   
fervently pace the room, fighting the urge to break things. *Talk about being   
between a rock and a hard place. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. . . . If I   
sit back and do nothing, then your name may never be cleared. It'll look like   
you're fleeing, and your actions will be used against you. But if I do go after   
you, there's a very good chance that I'll lose everything. All those years of   
working my ass off--first in med school, then the academy, in the Bureau, as   
your partner on the X-Files. If I lose my badge, it will all have been for   
nothing.  
  
*All that we've endured. . . . Lord, I've lost so much already. It may have been   
my choice, but others gave their lives without ever knowing the sacrifices they   
made. And why? For your--no, *our*--godforsaken quest for the Truth. That's   
right. Your quest has become my own. You may have fought to reopen the X-Files,   
but they've become my life as well. And if I were to lose the work, then what do   
I have? If that were to happen, then there'd be nothing left. . . . Nothing but   
you.*  
  
Scully continued pacing, her hands balled into fists. *In the long run that may   
not even mean much. Apparently, you don't feel the same way I do. I thought,   
after the night of the storm, that you might feel the same way about me as I do   
for you. But now I'm not so sure. If you preferred following a case we were   
forbidden to pursue without even telling me, then what does that say about what   
you think of me? You obviously don't view me as an equal. I'm just your partner   
when it's convenient. When you need justification for your work. Or someone to   
bail your sorry ass out of trouble. I thought you had changed, Mulder. I thought   
we were past this. That we had come to respect one another. To trust one another   
completely, to share everything when it came to work. Apparently, I was wrong .   
. . you really can't teach an old dog new tricks.  
  
*It's my own fault, really. I've put up with your ways for so long. You'd ditch   
me, and I'd go running after you. I'd be so relieved that you were all right   
that I'd never even let you know what your thoughtlessness had put me through. I   
would just give in to my relief, thanking heaven for bringing you back to me in   
one piece. But perhaps I should've instead told you how much I hate it when you   
go off on your wild goose chases, leaving me out of the loop, to hold the fort,   
until you decide you need rescuing. Perhaps it's time to finally tell you how   
sick and tired I am of playing second-fiddle. Either we're in this together, as   
equals, or else--*  
  
Scully stopped pacing, and turned to face his desk, her eyes stopping on his "I   
Want to Believe" poster, the one she had gotten to replace the original that was   
destroyed when their office was burned down. *Or else what, Dana? Or else you'll   
quit? You'll walk away from the X-Files and Fox Mulder and never look back? If   
push came to shove, are you willing--are you capable--of doing that? Can you go   
on without the work, without Mulder?*  
  
With a wry grin, Scully knew the answer was painfully obvious. *Face facts:   
despite his aggravating ways, you love him. He's your partner, your best friend--  
and also something else. Your feelings go much deeper than those of camaraderie   
or friendship. The truth is, you want more. And until you find out if he feels   
the same way, you can't let this go.*  
  
Turning away, she wrapped her arms around herself. *If you're ever to have a   
chance at happiness--if Mulder is ever to be a part of that equation--then you   
have to let him know what's going on and you have to get him out of this mess.   
Because, no matter how much you tell yourself that he deserves what's happening   
to him because of his reckless and insensitive behavior, you'd never be able to   
live with yourself if you allowed him to throw away everything you and he have   
worked so hard for without at least trying to save him--from whomever's framing   
him, and from himself. Even if it means that you lose everything in the   
process.*  
  
With a weary sigh, Scully pulled out her cell-phone and dialed a number.   
*Special Agent Scully to the rescue once again.*  
  
"_Lone Gunman_."  
  
"Hi, Byers. It's Scully. I need your help. . . ."  
  
  
End Chapter 6  
  
  
***** 


	7. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 07/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
  
Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6  
Well I already know that you'd find some way to sneak me in and oh  
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom  
You see it's too much to ask for and I am not the doctor  
  
  
  
Returning to her apartment, Scully hastened toward her bedroom with her new   
purchases. She quickly changed her clothes, donning a low-cut silk blouse and a   
straight skirt that was a bit more form-fitting--not to mention a little lacking   
in fabric--as compared to her usual outfits, as well as heels that were over an   
inch taller than those she typically wore. Walking over to a mirror, then took   
out a dark red lipstick and added a fresh coat. Next she dabbed some perfume on   
her wrists and neck, as well as tracing a path down her chest.  
  
She paused, surveying her handiwork.  
  
*It needs something else,* she realized. *But what--?*  
  
Inspiration hit then, and she began to rummage through the makeup case once   
again. Picking up a dark brown eyeliner pencil, she placed a small dot on the   
left side of her upper lip, just below her nose.  
  
*Perfect,* she thought, admiring her new beauty mark.  
  
Pouting her lips to ascertain the effect, she gazed at her reflection in the   
mirror, barely able to recognize herself. *This is crazy, Dana. You've finally   
lost it.* She shook her head. *But you've got to do it. It's the only way to   
help him--and thus help yourself.*  
  
With a final look at her reflection, she donned her trench coat--ensuring that   
the synch was fastened securely--and made her wayback to her car. As she started   
the engine, she spared a glance into the rear-view mirror and caught sight of   
the same dark blue Chevy that had followed her since she left headquarters   
earlier that morning. A few moments after she pulled away from the curb, the   
Chevy pulled into the street behind her. Skinner's suspicions had been correct--  
the local police were keeping her under surveillance. They could use some   
lessons in the subtlety of tailing, she mused. She knew she could lose them with   
little effort, and she suddenly had a devilish desire to do so. But she   
restrained herself, not yet wanting them to know that she was aware of their   
presence.  
  
Arriving back at headquarters, she shut off the car and sat for a moment behind   
the wheel. *I can't believe I'm resorting to this,* she thought. *I've sunken to   
an all-time low.*  
  
During her time with the X-Files, Scully had done her share of rule-bending and   
had defied orders while in search of the truth--or, more often than not, so that   
she could protect her partner. How many times had she lied to her superiors,   
including Skinner? How often did she withhold certain facts regarding Mulder's   
actions or try to talk her way around his indiscretions in her field reports? On   
one occasion she had been held in contempt of Congress for refusing to disclose   
his whereabouts, and ended up spending time in jail in order to safeguard him.  
  
Now, though, the potential consequences of her actions could be far more serious   
and have much more extensive repercussions than an official reprimand on her   
record. If she were to be caught in the act for what she had planned for today,   
then she could forget about working for the Bureau ever again. Hell, she would   
likely not be able to escape a lengthy prison term--although the sentence Mulder   
could expect if not cleared of these murder charges would be far worse. Since   
her hands were being tied as far as the investigation into Andraven's murder,   
she now had to resort to cloak-and-dagger in order to try to save Mulder.  
  
*`Had to.' Interesting choice of words, Dana. Do you wonder what they mean?*  
  
Loyalty was a trait her family had ground into her from an early age, and she   
felt an obligation to help her partner. Despite how inconsiderate his behavior,   
how selfish and stupid his leaving, no matter how much it hurt that he had stood   
her up the previous night and thus quite possibly did not return her feelings,   
she could not just sit back and do nothing. After all they had been through, she   
owed him at least this much.  
  
*Too bad he doesn't return that same consideration, Dana. It's getting to the   
point where little that Mulder does should manage to surprise you anymore.*  
  
This was becoming an all-too-familiar pattern: Mulder runs off half-cocked, not   
thinking of the consequences, he gets into trouble, and she has to chase after   
him in order to bail him out, like a good little partner. Did he continue to   
behave so recklessly because he knew that she would always be there to back him   
up? Did he constantly risk his own life and hers, as well as both of their   
careers, because he knew that she would not just sit back without becoming   
involved herself? Had she become so predictable that he was now taking her   
assistance, her reactions--to say nothing of Scully herself--for granted?  
  
What it basically boiled down to was that he was using her when it was   
convenient to keep him out of trouble--regardless of the risks she herself   
incurred. Though potentially dire under the worst of circumstances, in the past,   
the ramifications of her becoming involved in his rescue amounted to little more   
than a slap on the wrist. Now, however, the stakes were high indeed.  
  
Her job--her career--were vital to her existence. If she were forbidden from   
working for the Bureau in general or on the X-Files in particular, then what   
would she do? She had spent the past six years putting her all into her career,   
at the expense of her personal life. If it were to be taken away, if she could   
not continue the work, then what would she have to show for her thirty-four   
years? She had no husband, no children--hell, she could not remember the last   
time she had even been on a date. This was all she had. Mulder was not the only   
one for whom this job had become a means of existence. The X-Files were her life   
now, too, and she was damned if she was going to let anything or anyone--Fox   
Mulder included--take them away from her.  
  
*Damn you, Mulder, for making me do this,* she thought irately as she exited the   
car, brief case in tow, and made her way toward the Video Production Unit. As   
the knowledge of what she was about to do began to sink in, her mind started   
racing. *Lord, what would Mulder think if he knew his straight-laced, logical   
partner was about to use her feminine wiles to procure some evidence in a most   
illegal fashion?* she wondered.  
  
For a moment, a thrill ran through her as she entertained the idea that he might   
actually like it. But then it was replaced with revulsion: she was totally   
repulsed with herself. She despised women who relied upon their bodies or their   
sex appeal rather than their brains or their skills in order to climb the   
ladder. She had always prided herself on the fact that she had achieved so much,   
obtaining a position where she was valued and respected for her intellect, her   
investigative capabilities, and her scientific competence--rather than how she   
looked or with whom she slept. And now she was demeaning herself, using her   
sexuality, just like the rest of them.  
  
*Mulder may be a believer, but this is one extreme possibility even he would   
doubt unless he saw it himself. And face it, Dana, even if he did, he would   
probably be disgusted. He would expect better behavior from Special Agent Dana   
Scully, M.D.*  
  
Reaching the lab, she paused a moment outside the door.  
  
*This _is_ decidedly un-Scully-like, isn't it? Hmm, maybe I should tell Mulder   
about this after I find him. That way he can realize that I refuse to jump   
through the same hoops time and again. He's not the only one who can act a   
little reckless and go out on a limb in order to get the job done. Fair's fair,   
Mulder: it's my turn to ignore the rules. Even if getting caught means that my   
reputation is ruined, my career is over, and my freedom may very well be lost.  
  
*Dear heaven, Dana, you really are on self-destructive mode all of a sudden,   
aren't you? You need to let out some of these repressed feelings.  
  
*All I have to say is that you'd better be in one piece when I find you, Mulder,   
because once I get my hands on you, I want the pleasure of tearing you limb from   
limb myself.*  
  
She undid the belt of her coat, removed it, and slung it over her arm. Then,   
taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door and walked inside.   
The lab tech was sitting by a computer monitor, studying the screen.  
  
*Well, here goes nothin'. . . .*  
  
"Agent Tyson?" she called, attempting to keep her voice low and sultry.  
  
"Yes?" The tech seated at a nearby lab bench looked up. Catching sight of   
Scully, his eyes widened for a moment even as the first hints of a smile began   
to curl the corners of his mouth. She watched his gaze move slowly down her   
body: from her face, to the clinging blouse whose silk parted to reveal the   
creamy white flesh beneath, to the tight skirt that was short enough to reveal   
quite a bit of thigh. "May I help you?"  
  
Scully sauntered over to him, making a conscious effort to sway her hips even   
more than usual. "Agent Scully," she told him, extending her hand. "I believe   
we've met once before."  
  
"Not that I recall," he replied, taking her hand. "I'm sure I'd remember making   
your acquaintance." She could feel his thumb gently stroking the back of her   
hand.  
  
"Why, thank you," Scully smiled, even as her skin crawled. It took all her   
conscious effort to repress a shudder and resist the urge to knee him in the   
groin.  
  
Well, at least she had been right about Agent Tyson. Rumor had it that he chased   
anything in a skirt, having already tried his hand a large percentage of the   
young, single administrative assistants and technicians, as well as the female   
agents that came his way. She had workedwith him on occasion during the past six   
years when the evidence warranted it, and Scully had recalled him as being   
overly-flirtatious, even with no encouragement from her. Normally, she merely   
maintained her cool demeanor, keeping the conversation strictly-business, as   
well as keeping her distance so as to avoid any chance of contact. Of course,   
the fact that Mulder usually accompanied her to the lab helped as well. He   
seemed to sense her discomfort, and whenever they were viewing the videos being   
analyzed, he would often strategically stand or sit between them so as to   
prevent Tyson from getting anywhere near his partner. Though Scully did not like   
being protected, she now could not help but wish that Mulder were here to keep   
the Casanova at bay.  
  
*If Mulder were around, then you wouldn't be in this position in the first   
place, Dana,* she reminded herself. Annoyance once again rearing its ugly head,   
Scully used the emotion as motivation to get the job done.  
  
"So, what can I do for you today?" Agent Tyson asked, finally letting her hand   
go.  
  
"I'm here to pick up a tape that was being analyzed."  
  
"Oh? I don't remember you bringing it in."  
  
"I brought it in the other day. It was from a surveillance camera at a grocery   
store. It was supposed to be ready this morning," Scully told him as she leaned   
back against the lab bench beside Tyson, her torso at the technician's eye-  
level.  
  
"Let me check the computer for you," Tyson said, his eyes clearly focused on her   
chest as he spoke.  
  
"Thank you." *Pig.*  
  
Reluctantly turning back to his computer, he typed in some information. "Hmm. I   
don't see any record of it. Are you sure it was brought in?"  
  
"I gave it in myself--to a young tech."  
  
"Riley? That guy is scatterbrained. He probably took it in and forgot to enter   
it in the computer. I swear, he'd lose his head if it weren't attached."  
  
"Will you be able to find it for me? It's oh-so-important to my case," Scully   
purred, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes.  
  
"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'll find it for you," he said,   
placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll have to check the back room. In the   
meantime, why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?" he suggested,   
pulling out a chair for her.  
  
"How thoughtful of you," Scully replied, putting down her brief case and coat on   
the counter top. Sitting down, she slowly crossed her legs, the gesture causing   
her short skirt to rise even higher.  
  
"I'll, uh, be, uhm, right back." It seemed to take a physical effort for Tyson   
to tear his eyes from her legs. Scully smiled sweetly as he left the main lab.  
  
The moment he was gone, she got to her feet, and hurried to the lab bench. While   
she had been speaking to Tyson, she had been searching the room for the possible   
location of her objective. Beneath the counter top was a cabinet that apparently   
housed numerous video tapes. She opened the top drawer, labeled A-E and quickly   
began to scan the labels. Adams . . . Alexander . . . Anderson . . . Andraven.  
  
*Jackpot!* Pulling out the video tape, Scully removed it from the case and   
placed it on the counter top. She quickly retrieved a small metal apparatus from   
her briefcase and placed the tape inside. Pressing a button, she glanced at her   
watch. She looked back at the door that Tyson had gone through a few moments   
earlier.  
  
*Come on,* she thought, listening to the low humming of the machine. *Byers said   
two minutes. And that was allowing for a long tape.* She looked back at her   
watch, her eyes focusing on the second hand. Each movement seemed to take an   
eternity. *One minute. Okay, halfway there.*  
  
She heard a crash from the back room, quickly followed by a muttered curse by   
Tyson.  
  
"Everything okay?" Scully called.  
  
"Yeah! I'll be right there!" Tyson shouted back.  
  
"Take your time!" She looked at her watch. Thirty seconds left.  
  
She heard Tyson's footsteps. "It doesn't seem to be here," he called ahead of   
himself.  
  
*Shit!* Ten seconds left. *C'mon, c'mon.*  
  
"Are you sure that Riley finished with it?"  
  
Five seconds. *Finish, damn you!*  
  
She could hear Tyson approach the doorway.  
  
There was a beep as the machine finished copying. Scully quickly ejected the   
Andraven tape, shoving it back into its case. She replaced the tape in the   
cabinet and pushed it closed. She then made a leap for the chair and reseated   
herself. Seeing Tyson's shadow in the doorway, she suddenly realized that she   
was still holding the copying machine, and that her briefcase was several feet   
away on the counter top.  
  
Without time to hesitate, Scully pushed off the floor, sliding the wheeled chair   
to the lab bench. She was in the process of returning the machine to her brief   
case when Tyson reentered the room.  
  
"I can't seem to find the tape," he told her. "Did you just hear something? Some   
kind of ringing?"  
  
"Ringing? Oh, that was my cell," Scully said, patting her brief case. "My   
partner just called, to say that he had picked up the tape already from Agent   
Riley."  
  
"Well, that'd explain why I couldn't find it in back," Tyson said with a   
chuckle.  
  
"I'm so sorry to have troubled you, Agent Tyson," Scully said, her voice sugary-  
sweet.  
  
"No trouble at all. Listen, if Riley's analysis doesn't pan out, I'd be happy to   
take a look at the tape for you. Go over it frame-by-frame with you if need be."  
  
"That's a very generous offer."  
  
"I've got some time later this afternoon. And maybe afterwards, we could go grab   
a bite to eat?"  
  
"That sounds wonderful," she told him as she slowly rose. "Unfortunately,   
though, my partner and I have to go check out a lead on this case. Can I have a   
rain check?"  
  
"Sure. Give me a call anytime," he said, handing her his card.  
  
"I'll do that," Scully said, taking the card and slowly sliding it into her bra.   
"Thank you again for all your help."  
  
"My pleasure, Agent Scully. And be sure to let me know if I can be of any   
further assistance."  
  
"I will," she said, retrieving her coat and bag. "Good-bye."  
  
"'Bye."  
  
With a final nod and a wink, Scully quickly exited the lab. She hastened down   
the hallway toward the elevator. Entering the empty car, she pressed her back to   
the wall, closing her eyes and letting out a loud sigh. *Lord, that was close.*   
Right now, she had to get the copy of the tape over to the Lone Gunmen.   
Hopefully, they would be able to tell if the supposed confrontation between   
Mulder and Andraven had actually occurred on the night in question. She prayed   
they would be able to find some sort of indication that the tape had been   
doctored that would help to clear his name.  
  
She was in the process of donning her coat when the elevator doors opened and a   
man walked inside.  
  
"Agent Scully, I was just on my way down to see you," came an all-too-familiar   
voice.  
  
Breath catching in her throat, Scully hastened to close her coat, her brief case   
slipping from her grasp in the process.  
  
"Here, I've got it," Walter Skinner said, bending to pick up her bag for her.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Scully replied, taking it from him.  
  
His eyes widened a moment as he caught sight of her face, and she could almost   
have sworn she saw him trying to suppress a smile, but he quickly resumed his   
usual scowl. "I wanted to give this to you," he said, handing her a file folder.  
  
"What is this?" she asked, taking it from him.  
  
"I thought you might find this report interesting," he replied cryptically. The   
elevator doors opened, and he exited the car without another word.  
  
Brow furrowed, Scully opened the file, her eyes quickly scanning the page. "I'll   
be damned," she muttered. Even after all these years, she had yet to figure   
Skinner out. As the elevator arrived at the parking garage, she placed Peter   
Andraven's autopsy report into her brief case and headed back to her car.  
  
  
End Chapter 7  
  
  
***** 


	8. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 08/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 8  
  
  
I don't want to live on someday when my motto is last week  
I don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart and its wounded   
beat  
I don't want to be a substitute for the smoke you've been inhaling  
What do you thank me  
What do you thank me for  
  
  
  
"Where to?" the driver asked as Scully climbed into the cab.  
  
"The Upper West Side," she replied, pulling out a piece of paper and reading him   
the street address.  
  
"You got it."  
  
With a weary sigh, Scully settled back in her seat, gazing out the window and   
contemplating the events of the past twenty-four hours.  
  
After procuring a copy of the surveillance tape from the Video Production Unit   
and her brief encounter with Skinner, she had rushed the tape over to the Lone   
Gunmen for analysis, not even bothering to change--a fact that was much to   
Frohike's delight, if the drool that pooled at his feet when he got a good   
glimpse of ScullyThigh were any indication. Hell, she had been so relieved to be   
done with the entire operation that she had paid him no heed. Frankly, if the   
trio could find some evidence on the tape that would help to acquit Mulder of   
the murder charges, Frohike's ogling was well worth it.  
  
They had all watched it once through together. The view was of Andraven sitting   
at his desk in his office. The tape revealed Mulder entering the room   
unannounced. They exchanged words, and it quickly escalated into what appeared   
to be a heated conversation. After a few minutes, Andraven apparently asked   
Mulder to leave. Mulder said something else--what could very easily be   
interpreted as a threat if his posture and pointing were any indication--and   
then reluctantly left the office. Rather than return to his desk, Andraven   
retired to his private bathroom--where his body was ultimately discovered.   
Several minutes later, someone entered the office. There was no direct view of   
the person; rather, he remained cloaked in shadow as he headed toward Andraven's   
bathroom. When he left a few minutes later, his identity was still hidden.  
  
The Gunmen did not appear very hopeful, but they told Scully they would give it   
their best. And so she had left the boys to their task--with strict instructions   
to call her if anything panned out--and had returned home. After a long, hot   
shower--her encounter with Agent Tyson had left her feeling rather unclean--she   
made herself some dinner and settled at the dining room table with Andraven's   
autopsy report.  
  
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the   
head at close range. The murder weapon was standard Bureau issue. There were no   
signs of a struggle. The toxicology screen likewise provided no useful   
information. In sum, nothing stood out to her as a means of clearing her partner   
of culpability. And yet, after reading and re-reading the report several times,   
it tickled a nerve. Something about it seemed oddly familiar, though in what   
regard she could not pinpoint.  
  
It did not take long for her mind to drift to other more pertinent matters--like   
where the hell was her partner? What could have caused him to leave town   
suddenly without notifying her--short of the obvious answer the police proposed?  
  
There was no way that it involved their current case. Mulder had not even   
bothered to give it more than a cursory thought, his mind instead preoccupied   
with Andraven. No, she was pretty damn positive that Mulder's sudden   
disappearance involved Andraven and his desire to see the CEO punished. One   
thing she *was* sure of, however, was that Mulder did not kill him. Obsessed   
with bringing him down, yes; wanting to see him rot in jail, damn right; but he   
was not so far gone so as to operate outside of the law. Of this fact she was   
certain.  
  
So, where the hell was he? Better yet, how could she locate him?  
  
*Why not just call him?* The voice had sound suspiciously--not to mention   
frighteningly--like that of her mother. *Well, Mom always knows best.* Picking   
up the phone, she dialed his cell--and got the same out-of-service message she   
had received several times previously that day. Mulder probably lost or broke it   
yet again.  
  
A thought occurred then. If Mulder ran off suddenly without her, the odds were   
that he was following an impromptu lead. And it was quite likely that he   
received that information via a phone call.  
  
Twenty minutes and a few pulled strings later, Scully received a fax listing all   
incoming and outgoing calls to Mulder's cell phone, as well as to their office   
line. The latter proved quite interesting: at 6:03 PM--just over forty-five   
minutes after she had left and about an hour before they were supposed to meet   
at Tufano's--Mulder had received a call from a 212 area code. New York, New   
York. A little digging revealed that the phone call originated from the United   
Nations Building--specifically, the office of the Special Representative to the   
Secretary General, i.e. one Marita Covarrubias.  
  
Scully recognized the name. Over a year back, while they were investigating the   
case which had led Mulder to Tunguska, he had asked Scully for Marita's address.   
Scully had her suspicions that the SRSG was serving as Mulder's latest   
informant, but seeing as how she herself had never met her--as she had Deep   
Throat and the man known only as X on more than one occasion--Scully had not   
given this source of information serious thought. Perhaps she had mistaken the   
extent of Marita's influence.  
  
Scully had just tracked down Marita's home address yet again when she received a   
call from Byers. They had found something on the tape.  
  
A half hour later, Scully was seated in front of a television monitor as the   
Gunmen played her a scene from the surveillance tape. The view was of Andraven   
sitting at his desk.  
  
"I don't get it. What's so informative about this?" she asked, brow furrowed.   
"Andraven's pushing paperwork. How does this exonerate Mulder?"  
  
"The proverbial needle has been located and is sitting in plain sight, for all   
the world to see," Byers replied cryptically.  
  
Scully arched an eyebrow. "Would you care to elaborate?"  
  
"See that thing?" Langly asked, pointing to a corner of Andraven's desk.  
  
Scully moved her face closer to the screen for a better look. "It looks like a   
thin glass bottle of some kind. It's hard to make it out."  
  
"Zoom in, Frohike," Langly told him.  
  
"You got it, dude." A few taps of the keys and clicks of the mouse, and the item   
of interest filled the computer screen.  
  
"Recognize it now?" Langly asked.  
  
"Yes. It's one of the old-fashioned barometers--the kind where the level of   
colored liquid indicates the atmospheric pressure."  
  
"Give the lady a prize, Frohike muttered.  
  
"I still don't understand the significance," Scully said, crossing her arms.  
  
"You see the level of the liquid?" Byers asked. "It indicates that the   
barometric pressure was rather low."  
  
"In other words, a storm was brewin'--in more ways than one," Langly elaborated.  
  
"And?" Scully's indignant tone indicated that they had better cut to the chase.  
  
"And a check into the weather records for Virginia on the night of the murder   
indicates that the barometric pressure was on the high side--much higher than is   
indicated by the liquid level," Byers explained.  
  
"Simply put, Andraven died on a clear night," Langly added, "whereas this tape   
indicates that it was dark and stormy. What we're seeing did not occur the night   
he was killed."  
  
"I'll be damned," Scully muttered. "Someone doctored the tape."  
  
"A good effort, for what was surely a rush job," Byers remarked, what sounded   
suspiciously like admiration filling his voice. "But you were right, Scully--  
Mulder's been set up."  
  
Knowing that the longer he was missing the worse it would be for him, Scully   
wasted no time booking a flight to New York, intent on tracking down her   
partner.  
  
"Here we are." The voice of the cabdriver brought Scully out of her reverie.   
Paying the fare, she exited the taxi and made her way past the doorman and into   
the apartment building. During the elevator rise up to the 13th floor, she   
closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind and steel her resolve.  
  
With a *bing!* the doors slid open. Scully squared her shoulders and strodedown   
the hallway toward the further-most apartment. Reaching her destination, she   
looked at her watch. 11:21 PM. Late enough for the occupant to be home. She   
raised her hand to knock, but hesitated, and let her arm fall back to her side.  
  
*You can do this,* she thought, giving herself a silent pep talk. Taking a deep   
breath, she quickly lifted her fist again and rapped loudly on the door, fearing   
that if she were to wait any longer, she might lose her nerve. When there came   
no answer, she waited a few moments and knocked again.  
  
This time, she heard movement from inside. "Who is it?" came a muffled reply   
from the other side of the door.  
  
Imagining the occupant peering at her through the peep hole, Scully raised her   
chin high. "FBI," she replied in the best tough-as-nails tone she could muster,   
thankful that her voice remained steady.  
  
There was the sound of a lock being turned, and a moment later the door opened   
the few inches the chain would allow. "Can I see some identification, please?"   
asked a woman, her face largely obscured by shadows.  
  
Scully pulled out her badge and held it up for the woman to see. "Special Agent   
Dana Scully. I believe you know my partner, Fox Mulder."  
  
"Yes," the woman replied, her head moving slightly forward and into the light of   
the hallway. Scully studied her face carefully. She was a rather attractive   
woman, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, full lips, and ice blue eyes. Her   
face was framed by straight light blonde hair that was tucked neatly behind her   
ears.  
  
"I'd like to ask you some questions regarding his whereabouts," Scully resumed.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I can't help you," the woman replied. She moved to close the   
door--and with it, Scully realized, quite possibly her one chance of finding her   
partner.  
  
"No!" Scully snapped, stopping the door with a firm hand. "His life is in   
danger. Please, Marita, I need to find him." Scully looked at her, her face an   
image of calm determination--though her eyes gave her silent plea for help. "I   
know you called him last night, Marita. If you know anything, please tell me."  
  
Marita silently regarded Scully for several long moments. Finally, she nodded.   
"All right."  
  
Scully released the breath she had not realized she had been holding, and let go   
of the door, permitting Marita to close it so as to unfasten the chain. Swinging   
it wide open, Marita stood back, allowing Scully passage into her apartment.  
  
Walking into the foyer, Scully turned around and watched as Marita locked the   
door and sauntered slowly toward her, gliding past Scully and into the living   
room, her white silk robe swishing as her hips swayed provocatively. She sat   
down on an overstuffed chair and crossed her legs, one long shapely calf peeking   
through the shimmering fabric. She gestured toward the couch.  
  
Silently, Scully sat down.  
  
"So, what is this about Fox's life being in danger?" Marita asked, noticing how   
Scully stiffened at Marita's use of her partner's first name.  
  
"You've probably heard about the death of Peter Andraven," Scully began.  
  
Marita nodded. She had a good idea who was behind it, too. "The lab CEO who was   
murdered the other night?"  
  
"Yes. What you may not know is that Mulder is the chief suspect."  
  
"What?" Marita's eyes widened and she sat forward in her chair. "No, I didn't   
know that." This was not part of her plan. One who liked to anticipate   
unforeseen complications, she hated to be taken off guard. *Damn that Kronos. I   
wanted to split them up, make Mulder vulnerable to outside influence. He's still   
too useful to be taken out of the picture entirely. If Kronos's meddling has   
cost me my goal_*  
  
"You spoke to him earlier that night, didn't you, Marita?"  
  
Marita did not reply, trying to determine how best to play her hand given this   
latest turn of events. Should she maintain the separation between the partners,   
as she initially intended, or continue her role as helpful informant, and hope   
the damage already done was irreparable?  
  
"I traced an incoming call to our office phone," Scully continued. "It was your   
work number."  
  
Damn, the little bitch was resourceful. It would seem that the latter was the   
best option. She would continue her role of the secret benefactor--for now. And   
perhaps she could also continue to maintain the distance she had worked so hard   
to create. "Fox didn't want you to know. He had contacted me for some   
information regarding Andraven, and I was calling to tell him what I had   
learned."  
  
"Why didn't he want me to know?"  
  
"Fox said you were reluctant to pursue the case any further after you had been   
told to back off. He realized that trying to convince you otherwise would have   
been a senseless venture. Time was of the essence if he were to make use of the   
information I had discovered, so I arranged for Fox to fly to New York to pursue   
the lead immediately."  
  
Scully said nothing, but Marita noticed a peculiar twitching of her cheek.  
  
"Fox came over here to my place, so that I could show him the information in   
person. We went over every aspect in painstaking detail. It was a prolonged   
process--it extended much longer than I ever thought possible--but it was highly   
rewarding in the end. Fox is very meticulous and very thorough. It's always a   
pleasure working with him. As I'm sure you must know." Sitting back with a smug   
smile, Marita uncrossed and then recrossed her legs.  
  
Marita watched as Scully shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"I can't even begin to express how satisfying it is to witness first-hand how   
quickly and easily Fox can reach his full potential once he is no longer held   
back or stymied. I must say, it is absolutely amazing to see his mind at work."  
  
Marita leaned forward, her next words spoken in a hushed whisper. "You know,   
Dana, sometimes a man just needs a little encouragement rather than criticism.   
I'm sure you would be pleasantly surprised by the resulting reaction such   
stimulation can cause," she said with a wink and a smile.  
  
Color suddenly rushed into Scully's cheeks. Just as Marita noticed a flicker of   
emotion in her eyes, Scully quickly turned away, the knuckles of her clenched   
fists white. She then closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply, and finally   
turned back, her face once again a mask of calm. She offered a strained smile.  
  
"While I'd love to sit and chat some more, Marita, I need to locate my partner   
as soon as possible. The longer he's missing, the harder it will be to deny the   
murder charges. I need to find him so that I can help clear his name."  
  
"Of course, of course. You know that I'd do whatever I can to help Fox."  
  
"Well, if you could tell me where he was headed when he left here last night,   
that'd be as good a place to start as any."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Marita stood at her living room window, looking down at   
the street as Dana Scully climbed into a cab in pursuit of her partner. She had   
certainly managed to get under Scully's skin tonight--the agent was practically   
squirming in her seat. For a while there, Marita was not sure if Scully was   
going to burst into tears or shoot her in a blind rage.  
  
Marita had decided to play the role of temptress simply to undermine the trust   
the partners shared, to cause doubts and make Scully think that there were   
significant aspects of her partner's life that she knew nothing about. But from   
the stricken look on Dana Scully's face, from the way she abruptly lost her   
color and her eyes shone with unshed tears, Marita learned something even more   
useful: Dana Scully was in love with her partner. Her reactions were not those   
of a co-worker left in the dark, but rather those of a woman who learned that   
the object of her affection did not return her love. And that delicious little   
bit of knowledge was something that Marita could use to her advantage, not only   
to have some fun toying with Scully's emotions by seeing how far she could take   
it, but also to help her realize her ultimate goal of splitting the partners. As   
the saying went, divide and conquer. And with the partnership between Mulder and   
Scully severed, nothing could stop her from infiltrating the higher levels of   
the Syndicate and obtaining a chunk of the power.  
  
"You're looking quite happy with yourself," came a man's voice from behind her   
as a pair of strong arms snaked around her waist to pull her back against him.  
  
"I should have considered a career in acting," she replied, arching her neck   
back. He took immediate advantage of the access she provided, his dark goatee   
rasping against the smooth skin of her neck as he nuzzled her. "Mmm," she   
moaned. "Poor little Dana will probably be crying in her pillow tonight."  
  
"Care to demonstrate some of that stimulation you told her you were giving her   
partner?"  
  
"You were listening?" Marita asked, turning around in his arms.  
  
"Oh yeah," he replied, running his hands down the smooth fabric of her robe   
until he was cupping her ass. "Want to see how thorough *I* can be?" he asked,   
kissing her.  
  
She ground her hips against his groin, and smiled at the immediate response it   
evoked. "What time do you have to be at work?" she asked, running her fingers   
down his chest.  
  
He sighed. The work of a major domo was never done. "They gave me the morning   
off since they're not meeting until noon, to discuss the repercussions of   
Andraven's death on the project. And you know how long their meetings can last."  
  
Marita grinned mischievously. "Then we've got plenty of time to have some fun."   
Taking his hand, she led him back to the bedroom.  
  
  
End Chapter 8  
  
  
***** 


	9. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 09/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 9  
  
  
I don't want to be the glue that holds your pieces together  
I don't want to be your idol  
See this pedestal is high and I'm afraid of heights  
  
  
  
*How could he do this to me?* Scully wondered, walking to the curb to flag down   
yet another taxi cab. *It's bad enough that he never told me that he had a new   
informant, but to stand me up and rush to go see her without so much as a phone   
call--* She shook her head. *Lord, did he want her so badly that he couldn't   
spare a few minutes to pick up his cell-phone?*  
  
She could potentially stomach the fact that he would not tell her where he was   
going over the phone so as to assure the security of his newly-acquired lead,   
but the fact that he did not covertly clue her in--hell, that he did not make up   
some lame excuse rather than just leave her high and dry--cut to the quick.   
After half-a-dozen years of partnership, after all that they had been through   
together, she could not believe that he would willingly treat her with such   
disrespect. She deserved better than that.  
  
*Face it, Dana, your partner ditched you yet again for a case that he felt was   
more important than you--and so that he could get some while he was at it.*   
Scully had found it increasingly difficult not to wince every time Marita said   
his first name, rolling it off of her tongue with the familiarity of an old   
friend or long-time lover.  
  
A taxi pulled up to the curb, and Scully climbed in. "Seventh and twenty-third,"   
she all but barked at the cabbie. Scully crossed her arms across her chest and   
gazed out the window, eyes not really seeing the Manhattan blocks that passed   
by.  
  
Suddenly, she felt the familiar prick of unshed tears in her eyes. *That's what   
hurts the most, isn't it? Not the fact that he decided to follow up on the   
Andraven case. Not even the fact that he ditched you. But the fact that he's   
sleeping with that blonde bimbo.* She bit her bottom lip. *I thought there was a   
chance that we could have something. From the way he was acting, it seemed like   
he was completely open to the possibility. Hell, it seemed like he wanted it,   
too. How could I have been so wrong about him--about us?*  
  
Did Mulder really think of her as a hindrance? A frustrating encumbrance? Had   
she pushed him away when she should have embraced? Had she kept him at arm's   
distance too long, inadvertently pushing him right into the arms of this   
seductress?  
  
*Stop it, Dana! Just stop it!* She swiped at her cheeks, anger quickly replacing   
sorrow and disappointment. *This is neither the time nor the place. You've got   
to put your personal feelings aside. First and foremost, Mulder is your partner.   
And right now, both of your careers are depending upon your finding him and   
clearing his name of Andraven's murder. That is your first priority. The rest   
can wait until after this more immediate concern is settled.*  
  
With a sigh, Scully leaned her head back and closed her eyes, attempting to   
clear her head for the remainder of the drive.  
  
"Holee--!" The surprised voice of the cabbie woke Scully from a light sleep. Her   
eyes widened as she gazed out the window at the chaotic tableau before them.  
  
They had been heading toward a building that had once been owned by Rausch, a   
research and development laboratory. Due to financial cutbacks, Rausch had   
closed the facilities earlier that year. Several weeks previously, Andraven   
Laboratories acquired the building at a bargain price. Marita had reason to   
believe that the anthrax project begun by Tim Liles was continuing in the Rausch   
building.  
  
Apparently, the local authorities had been alerted to the fact that something   
had been going on inside the supposedly vacant laboratories. They suspected   
manufacture of illicit substances. Little did they know that the activities were   
much more heinous. Regardless of what they expected to find, the NYPD was   
getting ready to make a move. And according to Marita, to protect their   
research, Andraven's employees were going to salvage what they could of the   
research and destroy the rest to assure that the cops did not accidentally   
stumble upon evidence of biological weapons. Mulder hoped to get there both   
before the police and before the research was removed.  
  
They were still several blocks from the Rausch building, but the red and blue   
flashing emergency lights were already visible. Scully quickly unrolled her   
window and thrust her head out into the night air to get a better look. Her nose   
was immediately assailed by the unmistakable stench of smoke.  
  
"Can you get any closer?" she asked the driver as she pulled her head back   
inside.  
  
"Looks like da cops ain't lettin' anybody past da end'a da block. Dis is da best   
I can do."  
  
"Guess I'll just have to go the rest of the way on foot," Scully said, opening   
the door.  
  
"You want I should wait for you?"  
  
"Don't bother," Scully said, tossing two twenties in his direction.  
  
"Hey, thanks Red! Be careful out dere."  
  
Apprehension gripping her heart, Scully jogged toward the Rausch building. She   
counted five patrol cars and over a dozen officers, as well as an ambulance,   
firetruck, and assorted paramedics and firefighters. Even at the late hour,   
there was quite a crowd gathered behind the police barricades. She pushed her   
way toward the front of the civilians to get a better look at the building. The   
blaze seemed to be under control, a trio of firefighters carrying a hose back   
toward their truck. About twenty feet away a man sat on a gurney while an EMS   
worker tended to an injury on his forehead. There appeared to be no other   
wounded. She gazed at the cops milling around the area, looking for her partner,   
but there was no sign of Mulder. She decided to take a closer look.  
  
Scully ducked under the police barricade and strode determinately into the heart   
of the activity. She did not get far before an officer stepped in front of her.   
"Excuse me, ma'am, but this is a restricted area. You need to go back on the   
other side of--"  
  
"Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI," she stated, pulling out her badge and   
thrusting it in his face. "Can you tell me who's in charge here?"  
  
"That'd be Detective Berger, ma'am."  
  
"And where is he?"  
  
The officer turned around, looking out over the crowd. "Not sure, ma'am. Last I   
saw `im--" When he turned back, Scully was already on the move again.  
  
She next encountered a pair of cops arguing as they gestured toward the   
building. "Excuse me, can you please tell me who Detective Berger is?"  
  
"Who wants ta know?" the heavy-set officer asked her, his hands moving to his   
portly hips.  
  
"Special Agent Scully," she said, showing him her badge.  
  
"This was Berger and Sabella's operation," the second cop explained. "Saw `em   
`bout twenty minutes ago, over by the medics, with some other Fed."  
  
*Mulder's here? What if he's hurt? I have to get to him, help him--* She took a   
deep breath, willing herself to calm down. "Was there another agent here? A   
man?"  
  
"Word of mouth is that they met up with a Fed inside the building. Must've come   
upon some perps, `cause shots were fired, and the building was set ablaze."  
  
"Was anyone hurt?" Scully asked, looking past the cops toward the paramedics.  
  
"Berger was getting the once over," the first cop said.  
  
"I thought I heard the Fed took a bullet," the second cop said to the first.  
  
Scully felt her heart in her throat. *Dear God . . . Mulder.* She swallowed,   
willing herself not to panic. "Who told you that?"  
  
"Martinez said she saw. . . ."  
  
*I don't have time for this bullshit.* Leaving them to argue about the source of   
their information, Scully hastened toward the ambulance. She kept her badge   
raised, muttering "FBI" and "Federal Agent, coming through" as she pushed and   
shoved her way past various members of the NYPD and over to where the man sat on   
the gurney. Aside from the blood on his collar and soot on his face, as well as   
the bandage the paramedic was placing on his temple, he appeared otherwise   
unhurt.  
  
"Detective Berger?"  
  
The man looked up at her questioningly. "Yeah, that's me. And you are--?"  
  
"Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI," she replied, flashing her badge for the   
umpteenth time. "Are you in charge here?"  
  
"You could say that," Berger replied. "You done?" he asked the EMS worker. When   
the medic replied in the affirmative, he reached into his shirt pocket and   
replaced his small, wire-rimmed glasses. "My partner and I headed this   
operation. As you can do doubt tell, it turned out to be a bit bigger than we   
anticipated. Expect the unexpected, that's what Sabella always says. Which   
probably explains how she got out of there without a scratch on her, whereas I--"  
  
*Oh, Lord, please just let him be alive.* Scully's patience was wearing paper-  
thin. "Was there another federal agent with you?" she asked, cutting him off. "A   
man, just over six feet with dark brown hair?"  
  
"Yeah, an Agent Mulder. We were staking out the building last night when we   
caught him trying to sneak in. Once we all swapped stories, we decided to work   
together on the case. He tagged along with us tonight when we went to do a sneak   
and peak. Good guy. Competent, too. Saved Sabella's life, pushing her out of the   
line of fire. Shame he had to take a bullet in the process."  
  
*Please let him be alive so that I can wring his neck.* "Mulder was shot? Where?   
How badly? Where is he?"  
  
"I'm not sure of all the particulars. I got separated from Sabella and him   
during the firefight. She went with him to the hospital. So, you know this guy?"  
  
"He's my partner. What hospital was he taken to?"  
  
"St. Vincent's, I believe. Partner, you say? Then why the hell weren't you here,   
covering his ass?"  
  
Scully opened her mouth to reply, but found she had no answer. Berger was right.   
She should have been here with Mulder, watching his back. She may have been able   
to prevent his having been injured. Or if not, she should at least be the one to   
be with him, to comfort and reassure him, rather than some stranger. Being a   
doctor, she would have been able to offer him first aid, which is often critical   
in determining a victim's fate. If anything were to happen to him, she would   
never forgive herself.  
  
"Agent Scully?" She started when Berger placed his hand on her shoulder. "Look,   
I didn't mean to accuse you like that. I'm a fine one to talk, considering your   
partner was the one who saved my partner's life. Listen, I know you must be   
worried--a partner becomes like family. I've gotta stick around here to oversee   
the clean up, but I can have one of my men give you a ride to the hospital."  
  
"Th-thank you, Detective. I'd appreciate that."  
  
"Martinez!" he called to an officer standing a few feet away. "Get your ass over   
here!"  
  
Martinez hotfooted it over to them. "What's up, Detective?"  
  
"This is Agent Scully. She's with the Bureau. Her partner was the guy who got   
shot. Give her a ride over to St. Vincent's. Go on, now, hustle!"  
  
"Sure thing, Detective. This way, ma'am."  
  
"Thanks again, Detective," Scully told him before hurrying to catch up with   
Martinez.  
  
  
End Chapter 9  
  
  
***** 


	10. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 10/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 10  
  
  
I don't want to be lived through  
A vicarious occasion  
Please open the window  
  
  
Office Martinez made good use of her siren, which cut the trip down to about   
seven minutes. For Scully, they were perhaps the longest seven minutes of her   
life. During the ride, images flashed before her mind's eye of the other times   
Mulder had been injured.  
  
She remembered the Boggs case from their first year together, when Lucas Henry   
shot Mulder in the leg. The look of shock and confusion on his face as he went   
down, which quickly turned to pain. Her high-pitched cries of "Officer down!"   
and her anxious calls for help as she covered him with her jacket to keep him   
warm. The panic and dread when she realized the bullet had hit his femoral   
artery, and it would only take a few minutes for him to bleed to death. How she   
tried to keep her voice confident and reassuring as she felt his lifeblood seep   
through her fingers as she desperately tried to slow the flow. Watching   
helplessly from the sidelines as the ER doctors worked on him.  
  
Then there was Alaska. How she burst into that ER, and saw her half-dead partner   
in the hot water bath, and realized that the heat would cause the retro-virus he   
had been infected with to kill him. How they no sooner got him out of the bath   
and he flatlined. She may have sounded confident as she barked orders and   
brought him back with the defibrillator, but the truth was she had never been so   
frightened in all her life. Nor had she ever been so relieved as when his heart   
started beating again. Over the next several days, she had kept a silent vigil   
at his bedside, not leaving his side for hours at a time. She could still   
remember the morning he woke. She had been clutching his arm, silently praying   
that he would wake soon, when she felt the slightest movement. His eyes opened,   
and she graced him with the brightest smile she could muster.  
  
The other time he had been shot was at her own hand. At the time, it seemed the   
only way to keep him from killing Krycek and clearing him of the murder charges   
for his father's death. She treated him as best she could under the   
circumstances, keeping him doped up while the hallucinogen left his system,   
cleaning and dressing the wound while she drove him cross-country. Luckily, once   
she explained her reasoning, Mulder did not hold a grudge. Although he did still   
like to remind her about it from time to time--usually when he wanted to shame   
her into doing something for him. What she wouldn't give to have him tease her   
right now.  
  
*Please, Lord, just let him be all right. He can marry Marita for all I care.   
Just let him be okay.*  
  
Martinez had barely brought the car to a stop outside of the ER when Scully   
threw open the door and ran into the hospital. Cutting in front of several   
people, she approached the triad nurse. "I'm looking for Special Agent Fox   
Mulder. He was brought in here a short while ago with a gunshot wound."  
  
"Excuse me, ma'am, but you'll have to wait your turn. I'm in the middle--"  
  
"Unless you want me to haul your ass to jail, you'll tell me where the hell he   
is," she growled.  
  
"What seems to be the problem?" asked a security guard, approaching them.  
  
"I'm a Federal Agent," Scully said, showing him her badge. "I'm looking for my   
partner."  
  
"The information line is right over there, ma'am," the guard replied. He took   
her arm and pointed across the room. "Why don't you--"  
  
"Fuck you!" Scully muttered, pulling out of his grasp and heading toward the   
examination area. She was ready to search the room for Mulder one gurney at a   
time.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" asked a middle-aged man in a lab coat as he   
approached her.  
  
"Was a federal agent admitted this evening with a gunshot wound?" she countered.  
  
"As a matter of fact, yes. And you are?"  
  
"His partner."  
  
"Can I see some form of identification, please?"  
  
"Oh, for Chrissakes . . . !" Scully muttered, pulling out her badge. "Is he all   
right?"  
  
"That I couldn't tell you. I wasn't the one to treat him."  
  
"Then who did? Who knows where he is?" She felt the panic threatening to take   
control. "Goddammit, where the hell is he?"  
  
"If you'll calm down a minute, ma'am, I'll try to find out for you. Why don't   
you go sit down in the waiting area and--"  
  
Was she speaking a foreign language? What was so difficult to understand about   
what she wanted to know? "I'm only going to ask one more time before I start   
taking names: `WHERE--IS--HE?'!"  
  
"What's going on, Mike?" asked a thirty-something woman in scrubs.  
  
"Who worked on the gunshot wound that came in about a half hour ago, Eleanor?"  
  
"I did."  
  
"How is he?" Scully asked.  
  
"Are you his wife?"  
  
"Partner. Can you please tell me his status?"  
  
"He was hit in the shoulder. It entered and exited cleanly, missed the scapula   
completely. He suffered a bit of blood loss, but otherwise he's fine. He just   
won't be throwing any fastballs for a while."  
  
"Oh, thank God!" Scully sighed, her eyes sliding shut in relief as she clasped   
her hands over her mouth. She took a moment to offer a silent prayer of thanks   
before returning her attention to the female doctor. "Where is he? I'd like to   
see him."  
  
"He's resting in Room 3. Here, I'll show you the way," she said, leading Scully   
across the room. "Just so you know, we gave him some painkillers, so he might   
not be completely coherent. The detective who came in the ambulance is with him   
now. Here we are," she said as they came to a small room on the side of the main   
examination area.  
  
"Thank you," Scully said. She reached for the curtain, but stopped in mid-motion   
when she realized that her hand was shaking. Why was she nervous, she wondered.   
Strange how she had been desperately searching for him for the past twenty-four   
hours, and now that she knew exactly where he was, she hesitated before going to   
see him.  
  
*Get a grip, Dana. Don't fall apart now. You've got to give him hell for   
ditching you, remember? That's it--deep breath. In and out. In and out. Okay,   
here goes nothing.*  
  
Squaring her shoulders, Scully pushed the curtain aside and walked into the   
room. But nothing she could have done could have prepared her for the sight that   
greeted her eyes.  
  
  
  
I don't want to be the sweeper of the eggshells that you walk upon  
I don't want to be your other half I believe that 1 and 1 make 2  
I don't want to be your food or the light from the fridge on your face at  
midnight  
Hey what are you hungry for  
  
  
  
Mulder sat on a gurney, his back propped up with some pillows. Aside from the   
bandage on his right shoulder and the sling he wore, he seemed none the worse   
for wear--and in good spirits, especially given the fact that he was grinning   
broadly at the buxom raven-haired woman who was perched on the side of the   
gurney. She sat not two feet in front of him, with her hand on Mulder's thigh.   
She whispered something, and they both laughed.  
  
They evidently had not heard Scully enter the room. Scully was immediately   
reminded of the Gibson Praise case, when she had walked into the psychiatric   
facility and found Mulder and Diana Fowley standing together, hands clasped,   
heads bowed closely, as they spoke in soft, intimate tones. Like then, she felt   
as though she had been kicked in the gut. She had a similar impulse to flee, to   
turn right around and walk back out of the room. But she fought it with all the   
willpower she could muster. She had worked too hard, she had gone to such great   
lengths to find him. She was not going to turn back or walk away now.  
  
Scully cleared her throat loudly. That seemed to do the trick, because Mulder   
glanced up in her direction. He did a double take, as though unwilling to   
believe his eyes. "Scully? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Hello to you, too, Mulder," she replied coolly, walking towards him. "Glad to   
know you're so happy to see me."  
  
She stopped a few feet in front of the gurney and looked the other woman right   
in the eyes. This woman was supposedly in a shoot out and fire? Not a hair was   
out of place, her make-up was perfect, she looked fresh and well-rested. Scully,   
on the other hand, was hot and sweaty. She had not slept in over thirty-six   
hours, and was sure that she had dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Well, too   
late to do anything about that.  
  
"Dana Scully," she said, offering her hand. "You must be Detective Sabella."  
  
"Toni," she replied, using her well-manicured hand to shake with a firm grip.   
"So, you're Fox's partner?"  
  
Scully stiffened. "Yes," she replied with a forced smile.  
  
"He played quite the hero tonight--took a bullet and saved my life."  
  
"So I've heard. How are you feeling, Mulder?" Scully asked him.  
  
"Like I was shot in the shoulder. Guess now I'll have a matching scar to go with   
the one you gave me, huh, Scully?"  
  
Sabella looked from Mulder to Scully and back to Mulder, eyes widened in   
surprise. "She shot you?"  
  
Scully felt her cheeks grow warm.  
  
"Well, she's also a doctor, so she made up for it by patching me up afterwards."  
  
"Mmm hmm," Sabella said, folding her arms. "You probably deserved it."  
  
"It's, ah, a long story," he mumbled. He noticed the cold look Scully was giving   
him, and realized that he had better change the subject if he valued his   
livelihood. "So, Scully, how'd you find me?"  
  
Steee-rike two!  
  
"Well, you sure as hell didn't make it easy for me, Mulder. Ditching me yet   
again and flying off to New York without so much as a `See ya later'. No phone   
call, no message, no nothing."  
  
"I was working against the clock--"  
  
"Don't bother, Mulder. Marita explained about giving you the information on the   
research going on in the abandoned Rausch building."  
  
Mulder looked taken aback. "You spoke to Marita?"  
  
"I stopped by her place before heading over to the Rausch building."  
  
"How did you know to see her?"  
  
"I checked the phone records to your cell and our office phone. Hers was the   
last incoming call you received last night. Not hard to figure out what the   
phone call must have been about."  
  
Sabella whistled. "Jesus, Fox, if she's that good an investigator, you should   
have clued her in. You ever get tired of the Bureau, Scully, my unit'd love to   
have you aboard."  
  
Scully gave Mulder her best "I-told-you-so" look as she crossed her arms. "Why   
the hell didn't you tell me where you were going, Mulder? Bad enough you stood   
me up that night, but I'm your goddamned partner. The Andraven investigation was   
*our* case. I had just as much right to be let in on this information as you."  
  
Mulder glanced over at Sabella. "Toni, would you excuse us, please?"  
  
"Sure, no problem. I should go check in with Doug anyway. Thanks for everything,   
Fox. Take it easy," she said, giving his good hand a squeeze and bending to   
place a soft kiss on his cheek. "Nice to meet you, Scully."  
  
Mulder watched her leave, his gaze lingering several long moments.  
  
Noticing how easily he became distracted, Scully felt her anger rise. "Well,   
Mulder?" she asked impatiently, arms crossed across her chest.  
  
He finally turned his attention back to his partner. "Scully, they were getting   
ready to abandon the lab and destroy evidence."  
  
"A phone call takes less than a minute, Mulder."  
  
"But I couldn't call you, Scully. I'm pretty sure that Andraven has had us under   
surveillance ever since the hearing. Since we've been breathing down his back, I   
think he's been keeping a close watch on us so that he could be alerted if we   
decided to make a move against him. So, not only was time of the essence, but I   
also didn't want to alert Andraven that I knew about the Rausch facilities."  
  
"I don't think there's much Andraven could have done about it anyway, Mulder."  
  
"Don't underestimate his influence, Scully. He--"  
  
"He's dead, Mulder."  
  
He stared at her, nonplused. "What?"  
  
"He was murdered last night."  
  
"Son of a bitch!"  
  
"Oh, if you think that's good, it gets better. *You're* the prime suspect."  
  
"Me? You're kidding, right?"  
  
"Do I look like I'm in a joking mood? This afternoon, Skinner called me into his   
office. The police wanted to question me, but he did a pretty good job of that   
on his own. They think I might be an accessory. I was advised to notify them   
immediately if I heard from you. If I didn't cooperate fully, not only would it   
be my badge, but criminal charges as well."  
  
"But you came looking for me anyway?"  
  
"What did you expect me to do, Mulder? After all these years, I at least still   
feel fidelity toward our partnership, our friendship." *Do you still feel the   
same?* she wondered, unable to give voice to her fears.  
  
Mulder did not seem to pick up on her unasked question. "What kind of evidence   
do they have?"  
  
"Your gun as the murder weapon, for starters."  
  
"I had a little run-in with a perp on the way to the airport. I didn't have time   
report my weapon as lost. I decided to make due with the gun in my ankle   
holster."  
  
"Would you care to elaborate on this little run-in?"  
  
"I'd rather not go into it," he muttered, obviously wanting to side-step the   
topic. "What else do they have as evidence?"  
  
"A security tape of Andraven's office, showing you and him engaged in a heated   
argument the night he died."  
  
"That's bullshit, Scully. I wasn't there last night. I haven't gone near the   
bastard in well over a week."  
  
"I know, Mulder. I had the Gunmen check out the tape. It was doctored."  
  
"They let you bring the Gunmen a copy of the tape when you're accused of being   
an accessory to murder?"  
  
"Well, they didn't exactly *let* me," she replied sheepishly.  
  
His eyes widened as the corners of his mouth raised in a smirk. "Why, Scully, do   
you mean to tell me that you commandeered the tape?"  
  
"Just a copy of it. And if Skinner ever finds out, it'll be my ass. So, where   
the hell were you between eight and ten last night?"  
  
"Eight and ten," he repeated, looking up at the ceiling as he searched his   
memory. "Well, after my plane got in about 7:30, I took a cab over to Marita's   
apartment. I stayed about an hour so that she could show me some blueprints of   
the Rausch building. I decided to go check out the building for myself. That's   
when I ran into Sabella and her partner, Berger. They knew something was up   
inside, but they thought it had to do with drugs. I told them what I suspected.   
We decided to work together, and we staked out the place. Tonight was our   
deadline, so we decided to go in and have a little look-see for ourselves."  
  
"Did you find anything?"  
  
"Toni and I split from Doug, and we managed to get into the lab. But someone was   
waiting for us. He shot at us, pinned us down in the corner. Then he set the   
room on fire. We were able to get out of the room, and I pocketed some vials on   
the way out for evidence. But when Toni opened the doorway to the stairwell, I   
caught sight of a shadow moving. I pushed her out of the way, but before I could   
get clear, I got hit in the shoulder. Unfortunately, I fell on the vials, and   
they were smashed."  
  
"We can still check your pocket for trace evidence--"  
  
"Good luck finding it. They cut it off of me in the ambulance. That was my   
favorite jacket, too. I paid a pretty penny for that suit."  
  
Scully rolled her eyes. "So, in other words, you've got nothing to show for this   
little escapade."  
  
"Well, a gunshot wound and accusation of murder is a pretty decent   
accomplishment, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"Is this all some big game to you, Mulder? A joke? Because I, for one, am not   
laughing. You've got enough on your plate right now to get us both suspended--or   
worse. If you want to get yourself fired, or jailed for murder, that's your   
business. But I'll be damned if you're going to drag me along with you. My   
career is important to me, Mulder. It's been an uphill battle for me--first, as   
a woman in a male-dominated profession, and then being assigned to the X-Files,   
trying to legitimize work that almost no one treats seriously."  
  
"Are you saying that you don't consider what we do real work? If that's the   
case, then why the hell have you stayed on these past six years?"  
  
"Of course it's real work. You know that, I know that, even Skinner knows that.   
But precious few others do. Which means that when we screw up, it looks that   
much worse."  
  
"Since when do you care what other people think of you, Scully? It's never   
bothered you before. Or are you getting tired of being Mrs. Spooky?"  
  
"Stop twisting everything around, Mulder. As much as we like to tell ourselves   
otherwise, it does matter what other people think. Our superiors have to believe   
that what we're doing is important, that we're making a vital contribution to   
the Bureau. Because if they don't, then the X-Files are history. And without the   
X-Files, without the acknowledgment that we are working on legitimate cases,   
what the hell do we have to show for the past six years? I want--I *need*--for   
it to mean something, Mulder. I've worked too hard, I've sacrificed too much, to   
flush it all down the toilet on account of your wanting a quickie with that   
vacuous blonde floosy and then deciding to hook up with Detective Seductive when   
the opportunity presents itself."  
  
He stared at her incredulously. Where the hell had that come from? One moment,   
she was raising hell that he was ruining her career, and the next she was   
accusing him of being more concerned with getting some than with the case? Did   
those words really come out of Dana Scully's mouth?  
  
Never in all the years they had worked together had she ever voiced an objection   
to his involvement with another woman. And he could count such encounters on the   
fingers of one hand: Scully had been wary of Phoebe--but that uneasiness proved   
quite justified. She had not particularly cared for Detective White, but then   
neither of them were really acting rational during the case in Comity. And while   
she had seemed a little bothered by his interest in Dr. Bambi, she never really   
said anything explicitly--especially given the fact that nothing had come of it.   
There was nothing with Diana Fowley to begin with, but even so Scully had   
behaved with the utmost professional courtesy.  
  
So why was she now accusing him of going to New York under false pretenses? Sure   
he had flirted a bit with Toni. So what? She was an attractive woman, and she   
had been warm and friendly toward him from the start. Any red-blooded   
heterosexual male would have been warm and friendly right back. Where was the   
harm in that? Maybe subconsciously the part of him that always enjoyed flirting   
with her was even trying to make up for the fact that Scully could not be here   
with him.  
  
Still, that did not explain where the bloody hell Scully had gotten the idea   
that he was interested in Marita. That was just plain crazy. And he intended to   
tell her just that.  
  
"Scully, there's nothing going on between Marita and me."  
  
She *harumphed*. "Mulder, I have eyes. I'm not that dense."  
  
"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"You're the Oxford-educated psychologist--you figure it out. I'd just be careful   
if I were you. Because I wouldn't trust her anymore than I would Krycek."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"You give her the opportunity, she'll stab you in the back, Mulder."  
  
"On what do you base that conclusion?"  
  
"It just seems a little too convenient to me that she happened to contact you   
with information about Andraven on the same night that he was murdered. I think   
she was deliberately trying to get you out of town by sending you on this wild   
goose chase. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she were in on the whole thing.   
She probably set you up."  
  
"That's crazy, Scully."  
  
"Is it? Then how is it that you contacted her weeks ago, and she only got back   
to you last night?"  
  
"She had been out of town. And she only recently came by the information."  
  
"Andraven bought the Rausch building months ago. The cops have been   
investigating it for weeks. This is old news."  
  
"Jesus, Scully, you're being more paranoid than me."  
  
"Well, at least I'm able to see the forest for the trees. Marita's got the bed   
sheets pulled up way over your eyes."  
  
"What the hell are you implying, Scully?"  
  
"It's dangerous to mix business with pleasure, Mulder. You're likely to get   
careless. And that can leave you dead."  
  
A sudden intake of breath as realization dawned. "You're jealous."  
  
"What? Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"Yeah, you are. You're jealous of Marita. You think I'm sleeping with her, don't   
you? What, you're afraid she's screwing me for information? Or is that the other   
way around?"  
  
"You never put out for Deep Throat or X. Why start now?"  
  
"They weren't my type," he quipped. "For Christ's sake, Scully, what's gotten   
into you?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. My partner's accused of murder, and I'm accused of being an   
accessory. I've got the cops and Skinner breathing down my back. I was ditched   
yet again, and left to take all of the heat. Meanwhile, you're off cavorting   
with an informant I know absolutely nothing about. You never hid the existence   
of Deep Throat or X from me. I met them both myself. Why the hell didn't you   
tell me about her, Mulder? Afraid I'd put two and two together?"  
  
"Scully, I have no idea what put this insane notion in your head, but I'm not   
sleeping with Marita." Enough was enough. He did not like having to explain   
himself, and he sure as hell did not like being put on the defensive. "And even   
if I were, it's none of your goddamned business. What I do on my own time is   
none of your concern."  
  
"It sure as hell is when it affects my career and my life. Do you even realize   
how serious this accusation is, Mulder--for both of us? For God's sake, we could   
lose everything. Or do you not even give a--"  
  
The shrill ringing of her cell-phone cut her off mid-sentence. Her momentum   
gone, and her train of thought interrupted, Scully reached into her pocket for   
her phone. "Scully," she snapped, her tone irate.  
  
"Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner. I realize the hour is late,   
but there was no answer at your apartment."  
  
"I'm out of town, sir."  
  
"Working on a case?"  
  
She hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Uhm, yeah." She sighed. "What can I   
do for you?"  
  
"A package was just delivered to my home. It contained a video tape. It seems to   
be a copy of the security tape from Peter Andraven's office the night he died.   
There is also a print out of the weather report from that night, along with a   
blown-up image of some sort of glass bottle."  
  
"A barometer, sir."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"The bottle--it's a barometer. And the low pressure it indicates does not match   
the weather conditions on the night Andraven died."  
  
"So you're saying the tape is not accurate?"  
  
"That is correct, sir. I believe it to have been doctored."  
  
"You realize I should be questioning you as to how you know so much about this,   
don't you? But I don't think I even want to know how it is that you're aware of   
this, Agent Scully."  
  
"No, probably not."  
  
"Where are you, Scully?"  
  
"In New York City."  
  
"I don't suppose you've heard from Agent Mulder?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I've managed to locate him."  
  
"What? Where is he?"  
  
"Sitting right here next to me in St. Vincent's hospital."  
  
"Are you all right? Are you hurt?"  
  
"I'm fine, sir. Physically, anyway. Agent Mulder sustained a gunshot wound to   
the shoulder, but otherwise he's alive and well."  
  
"And just how did you happen to find him?"  
  
"It was the funniest thing. I was in a taxi, when the street we were driving on   
was blocked off by the police. I got out to see what was happening, and learned   
that a federal agent had been injured during a shoot out in a building that had   
been set on fire."  
  
"In other words, it had `Mulder' written all over it."  
  
She had to suppress a smile at that. "In a matter of speaking, yes."  
  
"Does he know about Andraven?"  
  
"Yes, I've filled him in. It turns out he has an alibi. Some NYPD detectives can   
vouch for him."  
  
"That's good news. All the same, he should get back to DC ASAP, speak to the   
local cops and make a statement. The sooner we can clear up his involvement, the   
better."  
  
"We can catch a red-eye, and be back in the next few hours."  
  
"You sound exhausted, Scully. Why don't you get some sleep first. You can take a   
later flight, and speak to the police tomorrow morning."  
  
"I'd just assume get back today, sir, and get this taken care of immediately.   
The sooner this whole ordeal is over with the better."  
  
"All right. Why don't you give me a call when you know what time your flight   
will be arriving. I'll call the captain, explain the situation to him, and   
arrange for some officers to stop by Mulder's apartment to take a statement."  
  
"Thank you, sir. I'll speak to you later." She disconnected and returned the   
phone to her coat pocket.  
  
"That Skinner?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Scully, I--"  
  
"Not now, Mulder. I don't want to talk about this anymore right now. I'm going   
to see about getting you released. Then we're going to fly back to DC and get   
this all straightened out with the cops so that I can wash my hands of this   
whole sordid mess." That said, she walked out of the room to find a nurse and   
get his release papers processed.  
  
  
End Chapter 10  
  
  
***** 


	11. Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor...

Title: Blessed Union of Souls I: Not the Doctor 11/11  
Author: Somogyi  
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com  
Category: SRA  
Rating: R for language  
Spoilers: Through Season Five  
Keywords: M/S UST  
Summary: A man from Scully's past returns, asking for her and Mulder's help to   
stop the development of a deadly biological weapon. But will the case bring   
Mulder and Scully closer together, or tear them apart?  
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters   
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen   
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no   
profit is being made.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Not the Doctor"  
by Somogyi  
somogyi02@yahoo.com  
  
  
Chapter 11  
  
  
I don't want to be your babysitter  
You're a very big boy now  
I don't want to be your mother  
I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months  
Show me the back door  
  
  
"Well, I'd say that about does it," said Detective Williams of the Virginia PD   
as he closed his notebook and stuffed it into the pocket of his blazer.  
  
*About bloody time,* Scully thought, closing her eyes and craning her neck   
backwards to get the kinks out. She could not remember the last time she had   
felt so tired. *That tends to happen when you don't sleep for nearly forty-eight   
hours, Dana.*  
  
She and Mulder had taken the first available flight back to DC. Since she had   
left her car at the airport, she took pity on Mulder and drove him back to his   
apartment. The exhaustion from his injury had apparently finally caught up with   
him, because he dozed the entire trip home. It was just as well as far as Scully   
was concerned, because she really did not want to talk to him right now.  
  
She pulled up in front of his apartment and shut off the engine. She was   
prepared to drop him off and go home for a much-needed bath before going to   
sleep for the next week. That is, before she stole a glance at her partner.  
  
Mulder slept with his chin tucked into his chest, his head lifting ever-so-  
slightly with each breath. She gazed at him, amazed at the way he looked like an   
innocent boy when he slept. An image swept across her mind's eye of a night   
spent in a forest in the Florida Everglades. Her back propped against a log,   
Mulder curled up like a small child in her lap, her arms wrapped securely around   
him in an attempt to keep him warm. His sleepy plea for her to sing him a   
lullaby. Seeing him now, one again hurt and tired, she had a similar urge to   
take him into her arms, to hold him close and protect him from harm. She slowly   
reached for his forehead, intent on brushing a stray lock of hair that had   
fallen onto his brow.  
  
*What the hell are you thinking, Dana?* she chided herself, her hand quickly   
falling to her side. *If you coddle him now, he's going to get away with it   
again. How many times has he taken advantage of your kindness, of your   
forgiveness? He constantly ditches you, conveniently forgets that you might   
actually be worried about what the hell he's doing, and only bothers to remember   
when it's convenient for him, when he wants something. He doesn't treat you as a   
partner, but as a nursemaid, as damage control. He doesn't give you the respect   
you deserve. And if you don't finally say or do something about it, the pattern   
is just going to repeat again and again and again. I'd say it's about fucking   
time that you put an end to it. Here and now. Tonight.*  
  
She reached for him again, this time grasping his arm and shaking him none-too-  
gently. "Mulder, wake up. You're home."  
  
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open and his head lifting. "Wha-What'd you say,   
Scully?"  
  
"I said you're home, Mulder. C'mon, I'll walk you up." She got out of the car   
and walked over to the passenger side. Seeing him fumble with the handle with   
his left hand, she jerked the door open for him.  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled, climbing out of the car and closing the door behind him.   
He started to walk towards the front door, but his legs grew wobbly, and he felt   
himself falter.  
  
"Easy does it," he heard her say as she slipped under his left arm. He accepted   
her help with no protest, and leaned heavily on her shoulder as they made their   
way into the building and to the elevator. As they slowly walked down the   
corridor toward his apartment, they saw two men in suits and ties and dark   
trenchcoats waiting for them. They introduced themselves as Detectives Williams   
and Alvarez of the Virginia PD, there to take Mulder's statement about his   
involvement--or lack thereof--in the Andraven murder case.  
  
After depositing Mulder on his living room couch, Scully put up a pot of coffee   
and then retreated to the bathroom to wash up. After placing a tray-full of   
steaming mugs onto the coffee table, she sat down at Mulder's desk and listened   
to the detectives conduct their interview.  
  
They explained that Skinner had contacted their captain to inform him that   
Mulder had been located, and that new evidence had surfaced which would prove   
his innocence. The Assistant Director had explained about the video tape. Both   
the Bureau's Video Production Unit and the VAPD's equivalent were verifying the   
reliability of the barometer as evidence. Williams and Alvarez had already   
contacted NYPD Detectives Toni Sabella and Doug Berger, who vouched for Mulder   
being in their company during the time the murder was committed. They questioned   
Mulder a bit about the last time he had seen Andraven, as well as his   
involvement in the shooting and building fire in New York. Finally, over an hour   
after they arrived, they took their leave.  
  
"I'm sorry for any inconvenience, Agent Scully," Detective Williams told her,   
actually managing to sound repentant. "We were just doing our jobs, is all. No   
hard feelings?" he asked, holding out his hand.  
  
Scully shook it. "Thank you for taking care of this so quickly, Detective."  
  
"Yeah, well, I think your boss is even more of a tight ass than my captain.   
Anyway, you and your partner get some rest. You both look like you could sleep   
for a week." With a final nod, he left.  
  
Scully closed the door with a weary sigh. She looked at her watch: 10:13 AM.   
God, it wasn't even noon yet. She returned to the living room, intent on   
offering a hasty good-bye before heading home. She found Mulder trying to gather   
the mugs onto the tray.  
  
"I'll take care of it, Mulder," she muttered, grabbing them from him and   
depositing them in the kitchen sink with a bang. "You should get some rest,   
Mulder," she told him as she returned. "Do you have any pain medication you can   
take?"  
  
"I'm sure I have something left over somewhere," he mumbled as he kicked off his   
shoes and lay back with a grimace on the couch.  
  
"All right, then. I'm outta here," she said, walking to the desk to collect her   
things.  
  
"What, no sponge bath before you go?" he asked, giving her his patented puppy-  
dog pout.  
  
This time, it did not have its usual effect. No flip-flop of her heart. No   
sudden rush of desire. Not even the impulse to baby him. Instead, she had the   
sudden urge to dump a bucket-full of cold water on him. Somehow, though, she   
doubted even that rude awakening would have the desired effect. "Why don't you   
give Toni a call? Hey, I bet Marita could charter them a private jet, and you   
could get a threesome going."  
  
His eyes shot open and he turned his head to look at her, brow furrowed.   
"Scully, what the hell is up with you lately? You've been acting strange ever   
since--"  
  
"What's up with *me*? With *me*? I can't believe you have the audacity to ask me   
such a question!"  
  
"Scully, you're not still hung up about my trip to New York, are you?"  
  
Was he for real? How could he not realize how upset she was? Did he merely view   
her as some unfeeling object? Someone to answer to his beck and call, to come   
bail him out of trouble whenever the need arose, and never protest? Well, it was   
time for him to get his head out of his ass, and realize that she was more than   
his mindless minion.  
  
"God, you just don't get it, do you, Mulder? Do you know how worried I've been?   
I hate not knowing, wondering where the hell you are, if you're alive, if you're   
lying somewhere, bleeding to death. Do you realize what I've been through in the   
past two days? Forget the fact that I sat in that goddammed restaurant for over   
two hours waiting for you to show up.  
  
That's a walk in the park compared to what came next. Ihave disobeyed a direct   
order from my superior. I have lied and stolen. I have humiliated myself. I have   
put everything on the line. And for what? For a so-called partner and friend who   
couldn't even be bothered to hit the speed dial on his cell-phone. "Do you   
know how upset I was when I got to the Rausch building and heard that you'd been   
shot? Do you realize that I spent the entire drive to the hospital with my heart   
in my throat, wondering if you were alive or dead? When they told me it was   
little more than a flesh wound, all I could think about was getting to you, to   
see with my own eyes that you were okay. And then I walked into the room, and   
saw you laughing and joking with Detective Sabella. I'd been going out of my   
head with worry, and you were trying to score."  
  
"Scully, it wasn't like that at all. I don't know where this sudden jealous   
streak has come from, but there's nothing between Toni and me."  
  
"That's not the point, Mulder. I don't give a damn who you fuck. The point is   
that while you were amusing the good detective, it never occurred to you that I   
might be wondering where the hell you were. The point is that you had no   
compunctions about working with this stranger, of going into a fire zone with   
her to cover your back, while you couldn't be bothered to let me back you up.   
Did it even occur to you to pick up a phone?"  
  
"Scully, we didn't have time to wait for you to get to New York. They were about   
to torch the place--"  
  
"Please, stop! Stop with the goddamned excuses! I don't want to hear it   
anymore!"  
  
"Fine!" he shouted back. "Because I really don't think I owe you any kind of   
explanation anyway."  
  
"Bullshit! You owe me that, and then some!"  
  
"Why? You're not my goddamned keeper, Scully."  
  
"Well, maybe if you behaved like a rational adult, you wouldn't need one."  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"That means that maybe if you acted maturely, and didn't constantly run off   
half-cocked, I wouldn't feel the need to play protector."  
  
"What the hell do you want from me, Scully? What do you want me to say? What is   
it you want to hear from me?"  
  
She was positively livid now. How could any thinking, breathing, feeling human   
being be so dense, so clueless? Mulder usually considered himself intuitive, but   
right now he might as well have his head buried in the sand.  
  
"How about `I'm sorry, Scully'? That'd be a great start. `I'm sorry for treating   
you like shit.' `I'm sorry for not giving you the respect you deserve as my   
partner and friend.' Is any of this registering in that thick skull of yours,   
Mulder? Here, let me spell it out for you: I am sick and tired of being   
forgotten about, ignored, and taken for granted. This may be a newsflash to you,   
but I do not like being ditched. I do not like being left out of the loop. I   
don't like playing damage control, chasing you all around the country to wipe   
your nose and bandage your wounds. And I sure as hell do not like having to take   
the heat when you screw up."  
  
"Scully, I've never asked you to--"  
  
At this point, she was seeing red. It took all her restraint not to pull out her   
gun and shoot him where he lay, or to pummel him with her bare hands. Instead,   
she blindly reached for the nearest heavy object--which happened to be a   
snowglobe sitting on his desk--and pitched it at his head with a vehement shout.   
Luckily, her aim was a little off, and it smashed against the wall behind the   
couch, pieces of plastic and fake snow and stale water raining down on the   
cushions.  
  
"No, Mulder, you've never asked me to play nursemaid, but you've expected it.   
You've assumed that if you get into trouble, good little Scully will come to   
bail you out. You decide to follow a lead on your own and things go sour, Scully   
will come to your rescue, no questions asked. You get information from a   
supposed-informant but don't bother to tell your partner where it came from--no   
big deal, Scully won't care. And for six years, I haven't said boo to you. I've   
gone along with your selfish, foolish actions, giving you my loyalty. But you   
know what, Mulder, enough's enough. A partnership is supposed to cut both ways,   
but right now it feels a little one-sided. And I'm sick and tired of it. I've   
had it up to here--" she raised her hand a foot above her head-- "with your   
impulsive behavior."  
  
Pausing to take a breath, Scully noticed that Mulder had been looking for the   
longest time at wet blotch on his wall where the globe impacted. His mind seemed   
a million miles away. He was, in fact, remembering how they had traveled to the   
Norwegian Sea during their second year together to investigate a ship whose crew   
had mysteriously aged at an accelerated rate. He and Scully had similarly fallen   
victim to rapid aging. After they ran out of water, Scully had managed to   
collect a small jar of liquid--consisting of sardine juice, half-a-dozen lemons,   
and the water from a snow globe. Both of them had insisted that the other drink   
it, willing to forsake the precious liquid so that the other could survive.  
  
While he was still recovering in the hospital, Scully had picked up a cheap   
plastic snowglobe of the Washington Monument in the gift shop and had given it   
to him to cheer him up. Upon returning home, Mulder had placed the snowglobe on   
his desk in the living room. And it had remained there ever since, a constant   
reminder of his partner's devotion to him.  
  
Only now it was gone, smashed by Scully's own hand.  
  
Meanwhile, Scully's blood was boiling. Did he find that wet spot more   
interesting than what she had to say? That pushed her over the edge. "For God's   
sake, Mulder, did you just hear a word I said?"  
  
He turned back to face her, a stricken look on his face. He face had drained of   
what remained of its color. And his eyes shone with the unmistakable glint of   
unshed tears.  
  
Scully supposed she had been wrong: he must have heard her rant about the pain   
his treatment had caused her these past several years. And judging by his   
reaction, he was still capable of feeling pain himself. She felt a vindictive   
pleasure in knowing that she had caused that pain--that he might finally feel a   
fraction on the hurt that he had caused her over the years.  
  
*Good,* she thought. *He made his bed--let him lie in it for a while. Let him   
mull over what I said, and see if it makes any difference in his thinking.*  
  
"I hope you give what I said some thought, Mulder," she said, picking up her   
coat. "Because I refuse to put up with this anymore. Unless you decide to make a   
conscious effort to change your behavior, to give me the respect that I deserve,   
then I really don't know what the future holds for us."  
  
She felt a lump in the back of her throat and and the familiar prick of tears in   
her own eyes. How had things managed to deteriorate so quickly? Was it just over   
a week ago that they were working together like a well-oiled machine, each   
utilizing their skills and expertise to solve their case in record time? That   
they spoke with playful banter and interacted with casual flirting--flirting   
which she even reciprocated much more than usual? That she considered telling   
him how she felt about him? A week ago, she had been hopeful that they might   
take their relationship to the next level, but right now she was fearful that   
their partnership might end today.  
  
And if that was what he decided, she had no one to blame but herself for   
initiating this course of action. So be it.  
  
She wanted to say more, but knew that if she tried to speak, her words would be   
swallowed by tears. And that just would not fit with the determined image she   
was trying to portray. So rather than say anything, she quickly took her leave,   
walking out of his apartment and slamming the door behind her.  
  
She quickly headed toward the elevator, secretly hoping that he would chase   
after her. That she would hear him call her name. That he would tell her how   
sorry he was for the way he treated her and that he would never ever take her   
for granted again. That he would take her in his arms and beg her not to go.   
That he would finally admit that he loved her, and that he could not live   
without her. But he did not come.  
  
With a *bing*, the elevator doors opened. She walked inside, and did not look   
back.  
  
  
The End  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Not the Doctor  
by Alanis Morissette  
  
  
I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours  
I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey  
Hidden in the bottom drawer  
I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine  
Lend me some fresh air  
I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you  
I don't want to be your babysitter  
You're a very big boy now  
I don't want to be your mother  
I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months  
Show me the back door  
  
Chorus:  
Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6  
Well I already know that you'd find some way to sneak me in and oh  
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom  
You see it's too much to ask for and I am not the doctor  
  
I don't want to be the sweeper of the eggshells that you walk upon  
I don't want to be your other half I believe that 1 and 1 make 2  
I don't want to be your food or the light from the fridge on your face at  
midnight  
Hey what are you hungry for  
I don't want to be the glue that holds your pieces together  
I don't want to be your idol  
See this pedestal is high and I'm afraid of heights  
I don't want to be lived through  
A vicarious occasion  
Please open the window  
  
Repeat Chorus  
  
I don't want to live on someday when my motto is last week  
I don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart and its wounded beat  
I don't want to be a substitute for the smoke you've been inhaling  
What do you thank me  
What do you thank me for  
  
Repeat Chorus  
  
  
***** 


End file.
